Rivers in Galilee
by Proudly Pinoy
Summary: Barry's son is keeping his sexuality a secret from his mentally unstable father, and his mother isn't much of a help either. How long before everything explodes? -Complete-
1. First Day

Author's note: Hey, I'm back, and once again, okay, this may have a good ending or something to that extent. (Which alone is a major departure from my other works…) Okay, legal stuff: If you've seen it in TV or somewhere, then it couldn't possibly be mine, right? So, yeah. I got this idea after a friend suggested that I try writing about it. So, being the dutiful friend that I was (plus a big thanks to psychology and sociology courses) I got into the groove of writing about this. I'll explain why I used a weird title a little later on, so without further ado, here is my next story.  

**Resident Evil: "Rivers in Galilee"**

Prologue:

              He washed his face in front of the mirror. The school comfort rooms felt so small compared to the luxurious lifestyle that the young man was accustomed to. Derrick Burton was a handsome young man who grew acquainted with the lifestyle of a celebrity, following the contributions of his father, Barry Burton, in the military field. His two sisters, Moira and Poly, were already leading successful lives themselves, the former in the art of journalism, with the latter currently finishing up law school with various prestigious offers coming her way. 

              Derrick on the other hand, was a shy, young man of seventeen years. Clad in a blue, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of black, denim pants, he had short brown hair, pale skin, and crystal blue eyes that made every girl turn his way. Unfortunately though, he couldn't share that feeling of attraction to the opposite sex. Like hundreds upon thousands of people, he was undeniably attracted to the same gender, and like most of those other people, he was ashamed, and very much frightened to admit it.

              Sociologists attribute this to an influx of uncontrollable emotion that brings forth an overabundance of gender-based hypocrisy and inequality. Geneticists on the other hand, are squabbling to prove that it is a type of genetic malfunction that decreases the testosterone or estrogen levels of respective individuals, making them more susceptible to acting out like the opposite gender. For others, it was a sickness, a disease that could never be cured.                   

He was afraid that he'd lose his friends that they'd begin to act around him differently. More than that, he was afraid of his father, the elderly man who could kill with a stare after an accident incapacitated one of his legs. The result was a man unlike before, bellowing in a low, frightening voice, white bushy hair and a receding hairline. Derrick knew that a traditionalist, a devout Roman Catholic like his father, would never accept him for who he was. 

              With shaking hands, he scooped up water with his hands from the running faucet, and gently caressed it on his face, relishing the comfort that it brought. He let out a loud sigh as he turned the faucet off; it was five more minutes before his class, his first class as a freshman in college. Still, he knew that he could never truly be open to anyone. He knew that he wouldn't be able to think of how well his day would go, or any trepidation presented by aging professors eager to get a laugh out of failing the whole student body. 

              As with every waking moment, it was the fear of truth that he wrestled with, contended with, and deep inside, he knew that it was a losing battle. Especially since he had a secret relationship with an older boy whom he met in his senior year back in high school. It was mute, but it was still very, very real. He loved somebody, but it was a love that he could never fully express. _"…Here we go." _He thought, as he pulled himself away from the isolation and pushed the washroom door open. 

              In an instant, a barrage of noise struck his senses, a world full of color, diversity, and personality. He wanted to believe that he could just blend in if he revealed his secret, and perhaps he could. That slight window of happiness however, of relief, was a chance he never planned on taking. 

Chapter 1: "First Day" 

              The halls were alive with energy, full of wide-eyed students that one could clearly separate from those of the older batches. Freshmen always had a knack for exploration, for new things and the like. They had with them new notebooks and plush bags, over-gelled hair and baggy pants. Upper classmen on the other hand, carried the most enthusiasm when meeting with friends that they've shared their whole summer with. They were also the ones who joked and dreaded about comparative anatomy, legal management and behavioral scientists. Freshmen dreamed of being dean's listers, while upper batch men dreamed of getting passing marks in all their quizzes. 

              Derrick fell in the former category, big dreams, high hopes, a person who hasn't faced the horrors of memorizing an entire frog's anatomy in the course of three days, neither has he been tested by philosophy professors who would not rest until they drive the point that there is no such thing as freedom into impressionable young minds. Luckily, he didn't have to face the former challenge as he found himself majoring in psychology as a bachelor of science. He liked how that sounded; it made a person seem smarter than he really was. _"A57." _Derrick entered the classroom, finding the people he met in his freshman orientation about a week ago. 

              The room was dominantly white, a bit darkened by age, with reflective windows for anyone who decided that they needed to fix their hair in the middle of a lecture. Derrick saw Karl, a skin headed young man who fancied himself a good-looking person, even though everybody else knew that it was a truly false notion. He was flirting with two girls in the front row, both of whom were trying their best not to just vomit then and there. So far, there were only five people excluding him, the three up front, and two young lovers who were passionately discussing their experience in the comfort room just moments ago. "…" Silently, he set down his bag in a seat just by the door, nearest to where he stood. Handsome as he was, the fact that he was extremely shy turned most people off. 

              A soft knock on the door then made him turn around. He clearly recognized the face on the opposite side of the glass pane. It was Alex Richens, a sophomore student in mechanical engineering. For the first time in the whole morning, Derrick cracked a smile, and quickly met the older boy outside. Alex had dirty blonde hair that drifted down to his neck, and a pair of green eyes. Like Derrick, he stood out because of his features, and like Derrick, he enjoyed the company of the same gender. 

"Welcome to the university." Alex said with a smile. He wore a small, yet loose gray shirt and a pair of faded jeans. "Thanks." Derrick replied cheerfully. Alex leaned over to give him a soft kiss, but the young man quickly leaned back to avoid it. "…Sorry." The older man rubbed the back of his head, remembering how much of a well-kept secret his boyfriend's sexuality was. 

"So…uh, what's your first class?" Alex asked, shifting his weight. 

"Genpsyc." Derrick replied, leaning on the railing beside his boyfriend. There was a large, rectangular opening in the middle of the building found on all the floors. In the middle, on the bottom floor, was a small garden purely for superficial purposes. Derrick looked down onto the garden, as he was in the fourth floor, which was the topmost one. "What time is it going to start?" 

"Eight." He said, making Alex laugh. "It's just six thirty…what are you doing here so early?" he asked, leaning on the railing as well. "My mom…she had to go to work early, and I'd rather tag along in the car than use the bus. Besides, it's the first day, I'm pretty excited." 

"I remember the feeling." Alex responded, looking down onto the garden as well. "Hey, Alex." Greeted a few guys passing by, members of the basketball varsity where Alex was playing. He responded by waving at them, then resuming his leaning position. "Uh…" Derrick rubbed the back of his head, feeling embarrassed to be asking anything. 

"I'm a one guy man." Alex softly told him, as if knowing what it was that went through his boyfriend's mind. His words were enough to draw a comforted smile out of the young man, as he simply nodded and smiled in return. "Hey…you're wearing the bracelet I gave you." Alex pointed out, referring to the blue beads around his boyfriend's waist. "Yeah…somebody said it brought out my eyes or something." 

"…It does. Uh, so, ready for your first class?" Alex asked him, turning around so he could lean his back and elbows onto the railing. "I think so, yeah."

"Who do you have?" 

"I still don't know. I didn't bother to ask. All professors are the same anyway." Derrick responded with a look of indifference. "It's all about seat works, home works, quizzes, long quizzes…"

"Not in college. Sometimes they don't even give quizzes." Alex replied with his all-knowing smile. Sometimes, it irritated the hell out of Derrick, other times he'd just want to kiss his him like he always did. "There's a professor in RELSTWO… he'd give these really cool lessons, like this one time, he walked into the class and announced that there was going to be a quiz. So naturally, everyone started asking each other, learning and stuff, we didn't realize that the period was already over. He just stood up, and said to us that, we needed each other to survive. Then he let us go." 

"Cool." Derrick replied. "…So how does he grade people?" he then asked. 

"Oral exam, everything's easy but he always asks one question near the end that no one could answer…like, give the exact location of some ancient city or something. Hey, you're already taking up RELSONE aren't you?" 

"Yeah, I have it MWF." 

"Dr. Monera. He gives these hard as nails quizzes and exams that, practically half the class ends up failing, but he always gives the students high marks in the end."

"He just lets people pass?" 

"Not really, you'd have to do an exegetical study…memorize the 'Our Father' in its original Greek…and a bibliarasal."

"Sounds fun." Derrick quipped sarcastically. "…Actually…it is."   

"What's a bibliarasal anyway?" he asked. 

"It's…kind of this family bonding experience. Share secrets…stuff like that." 

"…" Derrick's heart stopped at the notion of spending time with his distant father. "It's a requirement?" he asked weakly, with Alex quickly understanding why Derrick was clearly becoming worried. "…Uh, yeah." He responded. The last time Derrick spent any time with his father in his own volition was before Barry's accident. Before he suddenly thought that the world was a twisted place to live in. After Barry's accident, Derrick was pushed away, and each action returned a more critical reaction each time. Overnight, he lost a father, and gained a heartless judge.  

"…Great."

"You know…it could be a good time to iron out your problems with your dad." Alex suggested. He's never met Barry Burton; Derrick would never allow it, because he knew that his father already had suspicions about his son's sexuality. It was close-minded people like him, who saw a same gender sexual preference as a disease that made Alex sick to his stomach. 

"…I don't think so." Derrick responded. Alex knew that if he grinded him about it, his stubbornness would just keep on holding, until they get into another argument about the truth. "…You can't keep on hiding all your life, Derrick…" Alex whispered to him, clearly wanting what was best for him. 

"…We already talked about this Alex. I don't want to…I just, I can't handle it."

"…"

"At least not now." He said, giving no other reason than his own fear of rejection. Alex nodded at him, as understanding as ever. "It's the best chance you have of breaking him the news." Alex suggested. He really wanted Derrick to come clean with the truth. He had his reasons. 

"It'll be a whole lot easier if you…" 

"I know that, Alex." Derrick quickly snapped back, still keeping a hushed voice.  

              Barry Burton watched the trees sway in the far distance as he sat on a rocking chair in his porch. He had on a red turtleneck and a pair of black pants. Thankfully, he built their house in a secluded area, saving him from the noise of the busy Stoneville streets. He couldn't take excessive noise, not from television, nor from radio. "Hallie." He whispered under his breath, sensing the presence of his wife who emerged from the open door. She had beautiful blonde hair for her age, and a well kept body as well, thanks to the fact that their entire family prided exercise and personal hygiene. 

"Barry." She responded. Still carrying as much elegance and grace as she did decades ago, Hallie was a woman sought after by many men. Barry was lucky to have someone like her as his wife. "…Chris called. He said that…next Tuesday…" 

"His daughter's funeral, yes, I know." He responded with a chilling voice, one that did not show the slightest bit of affection. "…I'll be going." His wife told him. She wore a zipped up white blazer and a pair of slacks that were of the same color. "When you get there…tell them that I was busy."

"Are you sure that you don't want to go?" 

"You're making it sound like a field trip." 

"…" Hallie crossed her arms in front of her chest, watching her husband stare off into the tree line in the distance. "…Will you be going?" she asked again, clearly agitated at her husband's apathetic nature. "I have no reason to go." Barry replied. "He's your friend… your closest friend." She tried to persuade him. _"Your only friend." _She thought.  

"Yes…he was, wasn't he?" Barry scratched his temple, and then left his hand there to lean his head on. His eyes trailed down to his leg, unusable in its current state. Everyone he knew abandoned him one way or another. He was never as loved as much as his other colleagues were. Back then it deeply troubled him, that even with his expertise and experience, nobody ever consulted him, nobody ever thanked him. "What do you mean by that?" Hallie asked him, but she knew that when it came to that, she would never get a clear response, merely a vague reflection of her husband's inner turmoil. 

"It must be horrible…losing your child." He bitterly remarked, hinting at his own distaste for how far his son has strayed from what he wanted for him. "That's why me must treasure ours." Hallie replied, still keeping her distance. "…" There was a time when she knew what to say for every situation. She knew when to comfort somebody, when to tell him or her that everything will turn out well. There was also a time when she loved the man whose back was in front of her. It was always that way. He never bothered turning to look at his family's faces anymore. He much better desired the calm and comfort, as well as the solitude that the vestige of nature seemed to bring. Time changes many things.  

"I always thought him to become a doctor. He liked your books. Do you remember?" 

"…Yes. Yes, I do. He has skilled hands…he's very good in painting."

"He paints?" 

"…Yes…for two years now. I told you." 

"So that's what you've been spending money on? Teaching our son things that he could not possibly use for his future? No wonder it's looking bleak."

"How could you say that? Painting isn't worthless. I painted. I loved painting…" 

"That was before your arthritis."

"…Yes…it was."

"…He'll never be a doctor, will he?" 

"…"

"Where's a school shooting when you need one…" 

Author's note: Honestly, I had no clue what Barry's wife's name was, so I just used the name of an ex. I hope I managed to set a good enough mood for the upcoming hell I plan to put everyone through. I know, it's slow as hell, but hey, think of it as an indie flick, and it'll probably seem a whole lot more entertaining to read. So, I hope you enjoyed, and for the love of all that is unholy, please give me a review, okay? Thank you!  


	2. Distant

Author's note: Second chapter up, hope you get the feel of it. 

Frenchy: You got me there, well, going through some personal issues, and no better way than to feel awkwardly better than by berating yourself. I don't know, I just hate assuming that people actually like me, because half of the time, hell most of the time, they don't. (probably because I'm obnoxious, vain and conceited…hey, my loss…) I don't think I'll elaborate on Heart Redfield, we both know she's six feet under now anyway. Yeah, killing her made me a bit sad too, but if I get sad, then most probably my readers will too. 

Jon: Cool man, thanks. You know, I tell myself that no two people ever write the same way, we have our own pros and cons, kind of saves me from having to say that I'm never going to be as good as someone when it comes to something. Thanks for the rev.  

Orion: I don't use Japanese terms, hentai, yuri, yaoi, kind of un-cool for my tastes. When I say something, I say it straight up, if it's gay sex, then its gay sex, period. Thanks for the rev by the way, sorry I haven't got the chance to read the story you posted yet, sometime over the weekend maybe. I have to go and help plan the university's pep rally. 

Chris Redfield Fan: Yeah, I remember you. Thanks for the rev.  

Chapter 2: "Distant"

"So what do you expect in sociology?" the middle-aged professor asked, running a free hand through his short, black hair. It was already his style, always after introducing himself and giving a brief explanation of the syllabus, he would then ask that question. Dr. Era walked to the far end of the black board and wrote the question on it. He had on a tucked in checkered flannel and a pair of cream-colored slacks. "Anybody?" he asked again. They were freshmen that just happened to find this course on their class schedules, of course they didn't have a clue what to expect. 

"I'm sure you've all heard of sociology before…" he continued, most probably only to tease the students who thought that he may have to begin calling for recitation. "…Alright, let's move on to a different question…what do you expect from each other?" he then asked, writing the question on the board as well. Still, the student's didn't respond. They knew each other from their freshmen orientation, but they weren't too presumptuous as to declare what they seriously thought they could do for each other. "Cheat off each other's tests." A guy from the back suggested, making everyone chuckle. "Yes…at least somebody responded." The professor commented, writing his suggestion on the blackboard. "Anything else?" he asked, only to be met by an awkward silence. "…Alright, what do you expect from the teacher?" he then asked. 

"…No grade lower than 2.5!" somebody shouted. "Free cuts!" his friend added, making the class begin to act normally. The awkward phase was over. "What else?" the professor asked after quickly writing the suggestions. "No attendance!" screamed a girl right up front, causing everyone to cheer. "Oh, I wish." The professor replied, once again writing on the board. "Okay, that's it for now!" he shouted over the class who asked for easy quizzes and no assignments. 

"…More or less, what you say, what is in this board…it tells a lot about you." He said, resulting in a lot of nervous laughter. "…But let's not get into that, shall we? Thing is, if you deserve a 2.5, then why not? Unfortunately, the others suggestions are a little out of this world to be feasible. Well, since this is the first day and everything, I'm letting you go early." He said, drawing cheers from the class. "Now go forth and multiply! Oh…and read chapter 1!" 

"Hey…" a girl came up to Derrick, who was still putting his notebook back in his messenger bag. 

"Uh, hi Marie." He responded, swinging the bag across his shoulder. "I was wondering, where'd you buy that sociology book? I checked the supply store downstairs, but they're already out…" she told him, brushing back her golden hair. She was the type of girl that had both beauty, and brains, not a rare combination in the days when the most feared aspect of college life was becoming a stereotype. It was being called an artist and nothing more, a brain and nothing else. "…I…you know, my sister still has another copy from…a few years ago, so you can have this." Derrick said, handing over the textbook. 

"No, I can't." the girl protested, backing away a step. "I mean, thanks, but that thing still costs…"

"Don't worry about it. It's not like my dad would mind anyway." He said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "…You sure?" she asked, taking the book. "Yeah." He replied, and promptly turned away before she could say thanks. 

"I had this amazing dream." Barry said as he poured a cup of tea for himself. He and his wife, Hallie, sat in the middle of the atrium, a large rectangular area that had a smaller square that was confined in glass, where no roof hindered the sun from pouring down. Vines crept up the walls, while shards of grass looked up from the sides of the tiled floor. Finding time for tea was a custom for this couple. They used to swap stories of survival and the occasional cliché of towering love. That wasn't the case now. "Another one about operant conditioning?" she asked him sarcastically. "No, I've had enough of triggering predictable responses from various organisms." He replied. "…You wanted to brainwash your son."

"And I failed miserably." He poured a cup of tea for his estranged wife. It was as if they were no longer a couple, most probably no longer in love. "Sugar?" he asked, to which Hallie shook her head. "I remember the time when I called you Desdemona." He told her. "Yes, and I fear that you would stab me in my sleep all for a silly handkerchief, my dear Othello." She replied, taking a sip from her china cup. "…My dream…it was quite amazing." He said, returning to the topic. 

"Well, since there is no stopping you from expounding your Freudian fantasies…please, expound." 

"I…dreamt that…our son would help in making society a most beautiful place, where no social conflict exists." He told her, leaning back on his chair. "I hope you didn't dream that he would make a thesis about Nazi Germany being the model society for an ultimate race." 

"No, it was…extremely vague, but I saw hundreds of people…cheering him." 

"…" Hallie put down her cup of tea and leaned forward. It was new for her to hear something resembling a positive dream about their only son. "You aren't planning anything for him, aren't you?" she asked suspiciously. "No, and that is what scares me. I saw lights, bright, beautiful, and I saw people. Colored, white, all of them together, and I had this…faintest voice, telling me that it was all because of my son." 

"…"

"I think I may have gone mad." 

"You realize that just now?" 

"I know what is best for our son, and if that means that I must control every single aspect of his life, then so be it. If that dream is a sign, then pray maybe he still has hope." 

"Don't you mean plan?" 

"I'm sorry, but you know how euphemistic I get." 

"I noticed."

                Afternoon rolled by, bringing in the disheartening heat that made people keep to the penumbras of the buildings and walkways. This also made everyone crowd the Z2, the canteen that was smacked in the middle of the university. "Alex." Derrick waved at the young man, prompting him to come by. "Sorry, but I had to do something in the SC office." Alex apologized, placing his bag down and sitting in front of Derrick. It was just the two of them at that table. "It's okay. I've been reading up on Freud anyway." Derrick replied, throwing down a group of photocopied notes. "Dr. Sonoco?" Alex asked, taking the photocopies and reading them. "How'd you know?" 

"Does he think that man is in essence, evil?"

"Uh-huh."

"It's him then." 

"So…what's good to eat here?" Derrick asked, somewhat irritated that Alex didn't notice how he had to wait for him to get there so they could eat together. "I told you to go eat ahead…" Alex commented, standing up, with Derrick following his lead. "Is it okay to leave our stuff behind?" the younger man asked, noticing Alex just stashed his bag and notebook down on another chair.  

"Yeah, it's no problem." He responded, looking off into the lunch line of the main bar. "Does boxed sound good to you?" Alex then asked, realizing that it would take forever for them to get lunch from that line. "Boxed?" Derrick looked around, noticing numerous stalls that were placed inside the canteen. There was a 'Rice in a Box' stall by a corner, with about four people in line. "…Sounds good." Derrick put down his messenger bag and walked ahead, occasionally glancing behind to make sure that his boyfriend was still behind him. 

Alex wanted to put his arm around Derrick's shoulder as he watched him from behind, but he knew that the younger man wouldn't want the world to know that they were an item, especially since the whole school knew about Alex' sexual orientation. It was frustrating, only being able to share their more intimate moments in places where they could be sure that no one would recognize them. Alex knew how hard it was to come out of the closet, and he knew how hard it was for him to regain the trust of his family as well as his closest friends afterwards, but it was the reward, the joy of freedom, which made the pain seem so miniscule. 

"How were the classes?" Alex asked as he stood by Derrick's side as they waited in line. 

"They were fine. I think my block's a little too noisy though." 

"…You make it sound like you're so distant from them." 

"Well…I am. I just don't connect with any of them." Derrick replied, looking straight ahead. 

"You're going to have to. This is college…you need each other." Alex's voice showed his concern, something that Derrick hoped the bystanders didn't notice. 

                Hallie rearranged the roses on the coffee table, while Barry was busying himself with an old novel, 'Some prefer Nettles'. "Something's wrong?" Barry asked, without raising his gaze from the text on the brownish paper. "Like you care." Hallie commented, stretching her back after she felt that the flowers looked better than perfect. "Of course I do, you are still my wife." 

"By law." Hallie responded, making Barry chuckle. Beauty, opulence, it was a striking facade for the couple that had the foundations of their lives already cracking under their own heavy crosses. "I'm just worried about what dormitory life would be like for Derrick." 

"It's either he will adapt, or he'd be left behind." Barry replied coolly, turning a page.  

"Very comforting words. Have you opted for being a public speaker?" 

"Ten ways to a darker, more brooding you... I honestly doubt it." They hid their disgust in sarcasm, wanting to make each other feel that they are still on top of their game. At times, they just wanted to snap at each other, yell at each other to shut up, but if he or she did that, then it would be equivalent to losing their little battles.   

"At least you know yourself very, very well."

"I can't say the same for you." Barry replied, raising his eyebrow. His voice became more menacing this time around, just like how he would talk to his son, riddled with disdain.

"Excuse me?" Hallie asked him, placing her hands on her waist. "You've been seeing someone else, haven't you?" Barry said through a sneer, putting down the book that he was reading. "…What makes you say that?" 

"I still have people who work under me, you know. What's his name…Richmond Bateman?"  

"…I'm sorry, but if you expect me to spend the rest of my days with some…thing like you…then I… must disappoint you." Hallie commented, suddenly storming out of the room. She lost today's battle. Barry knew how much of a sin adultery was, how much God and His mighty Church saw it in contempt. He however, albeit a man of strong belief and faith, knew deep down that he could not blame her. She was human. Unfortunately, it was knowledge too deep for him to have to dig out. _"This is because of him." _Barry thought bitterly, putting his palms together as if thinking up a sinister plan. 

                Hallie rubbed her temples with both hands as she leaned against a corridor wall, with a highly decorated mirror hung right in front of her on the opposite side. The wallpaper was light green, with Celtic designs of a deep emerald color covering most of it. This was a taste that her husband acquired after that night in Arklay Mansion, a sentiment that Hallie personally did not share. She knew what kind of a man her husband has become, no longer a kind anthropologist, but rather, a cold, calculating genius. He was a man of strong principles, borne from God and country, but that did not mean that he did not have any capacity to bend the law to get what he wanted. 

                This was not the life that she was used to. Long ago, she woke up with the feeling that she could accomplish anything as long as the sun rose or the wind blew. She had beautiful children, a respected husband, admittedly a life less ordinary than most people. Her husband fought for humanity, and in the time that he was infected by something incurable, in the time when he needed help the most, it was humanity that rejected him. They could only keep the abomination from taking form, but that did not mean it would just lay there dormant. It was very much alive, and it tore away at her husband's body and soul. "…" In some strange way, Hallie was still in love, but she also felt a deep surge of hatred, for her husband, and for herself.

Author's note: Okay, I thought about it, and I'm going to put a cameo of Jill and Chris in a future entry. I just hope I can pull it off. Well, I hope you enjoyed the second chapter, still pretty boring though, but hey, I'll probably put in some plot twist in the end to make this all somewhat worth it. Till next time.  


	3. Heights

Author's note: I've watched five hours of Buffy straight…I'm dizzy. 

Frenchy: Yep, and I'm still getting around on how Claire and Leon would fit into the timeline. Well, I'm not big on the American Dream, so heh.

Chapter 3: "Heights" 

"Hey mom." Derrick was still drying his hair with a hand towel as he answered the phone. "How did you know it was me?" his mother asked, somewhat amused. "Intuition." Derrick replied, throwing the towel down on the couch. He had on a fitted white shirt and a pair of green, checkered boxers. 

"So, how was your first day?" she then asked. Hallie was an intelligent woman; she knew that the reason why Derrick knew it was her, was because her son would never make friends on his first day of classes. "It was okay…the professors were cool and all." 

"Think you'll be okay with your subjects this time…?" she asked, cutting right into Derrick.

"Mom…it's the first day, please don't lecture me on how my grades are doing, please." 

"I was just asking…" Hallie responded, not realizing that she suddenly got defensive.

"…I'm going to do fine. I have just one math subject for this term, and the rest is pretty much…memorize, analyze, memorize." He hated subjects involving arithmetic and statistics. A natural rejection for all things that needed a calculator ran in both sides of the family. 

"That's good! I mean, you're better at…memorizing, analyzing, and…memorizing." Her mother responded supportively, innately frightened of the course cards that were sure to come her way. 

              Derrick rubbed the back of his neck. He had these kinds of conversations before, with his mother mostly. When it came to his father, there was always shouting involved, psychological threats even. If it were his father who called, he would have slammed the receiver down then and there.  

"…How is your block? Meet anyone nice?" Hallie then asked, noticing how silent his son has become after her failed attempt at enthusiasm.

"Yeah, they're cool. They get pretty noise once they feel like they've settled in so…" Derrick replied, beginning to feel awkward about the question. "You know…your father is like that." 

"…Like what?" Derrick asked, trying his best to act mature about the subject. 

"You and him, both of you get irritated when there's too much noise." 

"I…didn't tell you…" Derrick stuttered, wanting to get the idea of any similarity with his insane father out of the window.

"It was in your voice… I'm your mother, it's an empathy thing." 

"Cool." He replied casually, keeping his sarcasm a secret. Derrick took a deep breath, rubbing his nose in the process. It was what he always did when he found himself getting nervous over something. "Have you eaten already?" Hallie asked, to which the young man responded with a yes. 

"…Is dad there?" Derrick then asked, shifting his weight. "…He's busy." Hallie replied; her voice was weaker that time around. It was always the same excuse, each time he at least tried to communicate with his father, it would always be the same. He was too busy. Sitting, reading, watching the sky, busy. 

"Okay." Derrick fell down on the couch. "So…what's he doing?" he then asked, gaining the urge to corner his mother into revealing just exactly how 'busy' his father was. "…Derrick…"

"Well, he's busy isn't he? Can't I know what about?" 

"It's about the military…something we shouldn't get involved in." 

"…" Her words were good enough for him, as he lost the heart to push through with punishing his mother for his father's shortcomings. "Hey mom, I have to go, I need to read ahead on psych…" he whispered, standing up once again. "Alright. Good night, I love you." She said, almost mechanically. It wasn't an expression of emotion, it was a routine, something that Derrick caught on too. "I love you too." He responded, putting the receiver back down on the cradle. Alex still had on his clothes from earlier that day, as he decided to join Derrick in his room, even though his own was just ten floors below. The room they were in now, the one Derrick's rented for the year, was small, but still elegant.

              It was a studio, a rectangular room that had a large glass, sliding doors in the end, to a balcony, boasting a beautiful skyline and a view of their university. From the front door's immediate left was propped a kitchen, separated only by sliding doors, while to the right was the couch, a small dining table, and the bathroom, and straight on ahead was the bed. It was small, expensive. Especially since it was standing right beside their university. 

"I've got some swami-guru advice thing…but I don't think you'd be in the mood." Alex announced, just as Derrick took his hand off the receiver. "Yeah…I'm not much for insight right now." He said. 

"So…what's up with psych?" Alex asked.

"Nothing, I just wanted to stop talking." He went straight to the balcony. "You know…" Alex tried to at least give his boyfriend a few words of wisdom, but he was soon met with a loud exhalation from Derrick, the young man's way of showing that he wanted nothing of it. "…" Alex shook his head, getting agitated at Derrick's innate stubbornness. "Want to eat?" the younger man asked, eager to change the subject. "…I still have a couple of leftovers over at my room…"

"Oh, okay." Derrick closed his eyes, comforted by the powerful wind that blew his way, but thankfully not into his room. This always calms him, the lights amidst the darkness, the feeling that you were above everyone else in the most literal sense of the word. Admittedly, he was afraid of heights, but when he wanted to feel, to be free, then it wouldn't matter. 

"Your folks bagged you a great view." Alex commented, coming up beside him. To get a twenty second floor in a thirty floor building required a lot of money, especially if it's right beside the one of the country's most prestigious universities. Derrick got there through money, while Alex found his way through a scholarship, lucky enough to give him a free room in that building.

"Yeah, I guess they did." Derrick leaned a little more forward, still keeping his eyes closed. Alex nodded, and gently placed his hand over Derrick's. 

"Busy again?" Hallie asked her husband as she sat down on the edge of their mattress. "Well, I am reading, you know." Barry replied nonchalantly, turning another page. "That thing is more important to you than your son." She said disgustedly as she slipped under the silk, white covers. There was a wide space in between the husband and wife, something that wasn't there before Derrick reached his teenage years. She faced the comfort room door, turning her nightlight off with a pull of a string. Barry still kept his on, as he leaned on the headboard of the mattress, continuing with the gloomy text. 

              Their bedroom felt bare, even though it was lushly carpeted with red and yellow borders. One could peer into the fields and the mountain line from the windows that faced Barry's side of the bed. Moonlight poured all over him as he read, oblivious, uncaring of what could be going through his wife's head that very instant. The walls were gray, perfectly symbolizing the lives that they led. A few paintings were hung on the walls, Hallie's attempt to keep the glaring blur of the walls from getting under her skin. "…Do you still dream?" she asked him, still not turning around to face him.

"I still do, yes." 

"You know…dreams are most likely the manifestations of what a person thinks about before he or she sleeps." She said, closing her eyes. Barry turned his glance to his wife, who looked like she was now headed off into sleep. "…" Barry put the book down and turned then off the lights.

"Let's talk about Freud." The elderly professor announced as he wrote the name of the psychologist on the blackboard. Derrick mechanically copied the name onto his notebook, half of him was wondering what the professor would say next, while the other wondered where should he be eating for lunch after the class. "You'll be talking about him more in your psychology class, as we will just tackle his psychoanalytic theory." The professor said, taking a drink of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. "Did everyone read up on the text I gave?" he then asked, putting the cup down. The class responded in unison; it was common for freshmen to study for everything in their first few weeks. 

"Alright…Mr. Burton, could you give us all a heads up on this theory?" 

"…Uh…yes sir." He responded. He was wearing a small, but loose red shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

"Well, we're waiting."

"It's…a psychodynamic theory that states…" Derrick fumbled through his notebook to find the photocopied text. "Okay…the psychoanalytic theory states that there are three principles that construct the human psyche. These are the 'Id', the 'Ego', and the superego." 

"Alright, good. Could you tell us more about these three?" 

"The 'Id'…is the pleasure principle." He said, making the class start chuckling like mad chickens. "It…shut up you maniacs!" Derrick joked, causing more laughter. "Mr. Burton…" the professor called, putting him, and the class, back into attention. "Yes, sorry sir, the Id is every person's most primal impulse…sex and aggression." 

"Next, without reading." The professor then chided, taking another sip from his favorite drink. 

"Okay…the ego is the middle ground, it is what we…uh, the ego is the thing that balances the Id and superego." The student replied. "Alright, then what is the superego?" 

"Sir, it is…the principle that acts like the conscience." 

"Very good. You see class, the psychoanalytic theory is something so basic, so simple. If we are driven by simplicity, then what does that make us?" 

"We're just animals." A tall girl in the back commented. "Yes, we are animals…but not 'just' animals. What makes us different?"

"The soul." A guy then answered. "Well, yeah, sure, you can say that…but in the professional world, we do not measure things that we cannot exactly see. In the professional world, we try to look at everything empirically." The professor then replied. 

"We see things, we feel things, that we believe are signs. The problem is, what we believe to be signs are nothing more than the manifestation of our optimism or pessimism in any given situation. It would be tricky to believe in signs." He then explained. 

"…Sir, what do you believe?" Derrick then asked, gaining the support of his classmates.

"…Let's just say… I'm a professional."          

              As always, Z2 was bustling with activity. Derrick sat on a table right beside the jalousies, so that he could watch the people pass by. He was with new friends, Aileen, a somewhat chubby girl with short hair. She wore a blue, collared shirt, her personal favorite. Jay was a thin young man with short, curly black hair and pale skin. He was silent, as if always in a deep train of thought. He wore a shirt with the flag of England on it. KC, like Jay, was one of the silent students, though he ended up excelling in every academic load that got in his way. He had short brown hair that was always gelled back for no apparent reason. He wore his favorite blue shirt from Girbeaud. 

"So, did you guys study on Macionis?" Aileen asked. It was already customary to refer to books by name of author, just so that it sounds a little more amusing. 

"Didn't read it. The prof said that we'll be film viewing today, right?" Jay asked. 

"Yeah…Iron and Silk or something." Derrick replied, looking outside. 

"Well, that doesn't mean we shouldn't study, right?" Aileen then remarked. 

"You had trauma with a pop quiz didn't you?" KC asked, making everyone laugh a bit. 

"Hey, did you guys watch Birds of Prey last night?" Derrick asked, referring the reruns of the old show about Batgirl and her badly decorated friends. "Yeah…no wonder it never got to season two." Aileen said. "Talk about evil directing." KC added. "I didn't watch it." Jay then said. "…Lucky bastard."

"Hey." Alex greeted, Derrick didn't notice him come from behind them. "Hey." Derrick responded. "…Uh, guys this is Alex…he's my…friend." The young man then awkwardly introduced. "Hey." They all greeted, in which Alex just waved and smiled back. He wore a fitted, blue shirt and a pair of cargo pants. "Uh, hey, maybe you guys should get something to eat. We are in the canteen after all." Derrick suggested, and there came no protest, as his friends scattered with their wallets. 

"…Friend? I think there's supposed to be a noun somewhere before that…" Alex said, trying his best to keep his sadness pushed back. It was a painful feeling to have the person you love act ashamed of you. "You know I don't…Alex…" 

"…It's okay, I understand. I mean, it's not like we haven't talked about this thirty million times." He replied, their voices were now just above a faint whisper. College had hundreds of lingering ears, and a thousand open mouths. "Alex…why'd you come here?" Derrick then asked, not realizing how much a question like that could strain a relationship. "…I just thought I'd check up on you. Though from the looks of things…"

"Don't." 

"…" Alex shook his head and shifted his weight. "Uh…The Youth for Christ are recruiting members for their university chapter…I thought that you wanted to know…" he started, eager to just change the subject then and there. 

"…About that…" Derrick rubbed the back of his neck, looking outside. 

"…" Anyone with half a brain knew what those two words, coupled with an apologetic tone, would signify. "…I don't think it's a good idea, at least not yet." 

"…"

"I mean, I'm in my first week and I'm already under a mountain of homework and quizzes…" 

"That's okay." Alex said, keeping his growing disappointment to himself. "…Have you eaten, maybe we could…?" he then asked, feeling nervous even at the simple offer. "…Sorry, but I'm…eating with my friends…Alex, I…" 

"Do you even want to be seen with me?" Alex asked, cutting Derrick in mid-speech.

"…"  

Author's note: Blah, blah, bloody blah, the funeral's up the next chapter. Let's all be merry.          


	4. Coffin

Author's note: That took long. Sorry, but I'm just incredibly pissed off that a rival model, THE only rival model (other than those b*stards Louie and Richard) of mine got a spot for a phone company's new commercial. And they say that modeling is an easy job? Hell no. You lose sleep, you have to move fast backstage, and you have to be careful of anything that you eat…and HE GETS THE F*CKING commercial. Son of a b*tch. I hate being 17.  

Hotaru: Birth certificates are a cowardly and superstitious lot. 

Orion's Shadow: (I still haven't watched the last episode of Buffy…) 

Redfield 99: Thanks for the heads up. I'm a little too lazy to have to change everything, though. 

Chapter 4: "Coffin" 

              It was a horrible cliché. Dark clouds hovered, covering everything in sight with a depressing tint of gray. As if God did not find the depression enough, a shower of ice-cold rain fell from the sky. Ever helpful. Black umbrellas were kept up as the spectators watched the coffin get laid to the earth. A stone angel was watching over the open ground. The falling rain made it look like tears were falling down her cheeks. It was cold. Mud mixed with the grass, while trees swung helplessly, yet elegantly, as if all coordinated by some twisted puppeteer.  

_"She's practically my age…" _Derrick thought as he watched in silence. The young man wore a simple black suit, a black tie, and a pair of ruined, black leather shoes. Beyond where the body rested, were Chris and Jill, people he never knew, only heard of. _"She was so beautiful…" _anyone could tell that, even those who were unfortunate enough to not have met Heart Redfield. Everyone suffered at her hands, not because of the pain she may have caused when she was alive, but rather, the hope that was kept in their hearts. The hope of the things that she could have accomplished if she did not die.  Believing that she would survive only made it more painful for them to accept the truth. She was killed by something inside her, inescapable darkness. 

              Chris had his arm around Jill's shoulder, while his free hand was clenched in both of hers. They subdued the tears with painful expressions. Keeping back pain was always a mistake. Both of them were heroes, icons, legends that were more human that most others this day. A handsome young man held an umbrella over them, getting almost half of his body open to the stabbing drops of water. _"He was her boyfriend." _Derrick thought. He saw the young man had a more steady expression, just like Chris did. Both of them found a great deal of strength. They shared a class in integrated multimedia.  

              Derrick felt his arm cramp, so he shifted the umbrella onto his left hand. His mother, ironically, was the one who wasn't able to come. His glance fell onto his father, just a few inches shorter than he was. Barry kept on him the same black suit that his son wore, save that Barry's was made by Armani, which would mean all the difference in the world. The old man looked sincerely solemn by the turn of events. Derrick didn't know that his father was capable of such a thing. "Concentrate on the wooden casket son…not on everything else." Barry reminded, not even looking back. "…And there I thought you almost cared about something." Derrick cut back, keeping his voice low. "Is this really the time?" His father asked, somewhat threateningly. It was enough to hush his son into cooperation.

              It was hard for Derrick to believe that these people once worked together in stopping apocalypse. The end however, erupted not in the world, but in themselves. Each one of them was torn, haunted. He didn't know that the same virus, which killed Heart, was also the infection that was crippling his father. The whole idea of undead monsters and superhuman spies seemed a little far-fetched for the young man, even after all of the stories and archives that he's seen in his life. It would explain why his father was so cold.   

"…You know son…death is the greatest lesson one could learn." 

"I'm sure that she'll appreciate that." Derrick responded sarcastically, referring to Heart. 

"No…not just death…but pain. Hardship, suffering…all leading to the ultimate isolation, which is the end." Barry continued, ignoring his son's impulsive commentary. "You see Derrick…it isn't the happy, shiny things that mold you into what you will become…rather….it is the strife."

"…Thank you dad…I feel so much better now. I hope that you don't plan on giving the same inspirational speech to the Redfields…because I don't think that they'd appreciate the sentiment." 

"I don't have to. They already know the truth."

"That life's one big hellhole? Is that your truth?" 

"…" Both of them were glad that they weren't too near any other of the grieving people, as their constant bickering had already caught the ears of those nearest to them. 

              It was bittersweet, a recollection of old friends amidst atrocious sequences. The wake was held in the house where Chris and Jill stayed ever since they finished off the last traces of Umbrella and HCF. For the first time, the house was crowded with people, men and women they worked alongside with, saved, at one point loved. Neither Leon nor Claire could be found, and some people heard that the latter committed murder. The former simply vanished. 

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Derrick overheard a middle-aged woman inside the kitchen, talking to Jill Valentine, Heart's mother. "Thank you… Ada." Jill responded, already weary of tears. "If there's anything we can do for you…anything at all." The Asian woman had as much dignified posture as Jill; both of them were clearly under heavy military conditioning. Both of them were extremely elegant, even though the circumstances would push practically anyone into isolation. Derrick didn't realize how much of a façade everyone was keeping. 

              He was alone, leaning against the wall, watching everyone come and go, talking to each other, reliving the past. Derrick wondered where his father went, and at the same time, thanked heavens that he had some time away from the old man. It was a large house, so even though there were plenty of people in attendance, he could always find a place to keep to himself. The living room was most populated, seeing as it was the largest room in the entire house. Derrick kept away from there, and kept on wandering around.

"…She had her mother's eyes." Chris whispered as he looked out the window of their massive bedroom. At one point, it was beautiful. Nothing in it changed, but now, the beauty wasn't there. Out the window he could see below, the gazebo where Mark and Heart spent most of their time. "Yes…I remember." Barry placed a hand on Chris' shoulder, still a step back from his former comrade.

"…How did it all…?" the older man asked. "It's a long story." Chris responded before Barry finished his question. "The strain was in her?" Barry asked, to which Chris just nodded in reply. "…I'm supposed to be the wiser, more experienced soldier here, Chris…the one who seems to have expert advice on everything…I'm not. But I do know that things like these…tragedies…they are there for a reason. They make us stronger."

"…I don't want to be stronger. I just want her back."

"Excuse me." Interrupted a female voice. It was Rebecca Oliviera, along with her husband, Carlos. Like all the rest, they were clad in black. In silence, all of them exchanged embrace, everyone save for Chris and Rebecca, who simply stared at each other. "…" Rebecca slowly took a step towards Chris, and placed a hand on his cheek. 

Chris could feel all the pain in those hands, from the moment that Heart came to her attention, to her final, failed, attempts at bringing Chris' daughter back to life. They remembered the drama, Mark's chance of false redemption, Jill's stoic state, Heart's final breath. It was hard for anyone who was there to forget. Rebecca's face faltered, then she soon found herself once again in tears, as she entered Chris' embrace. Carlos and Barry looked on. They always thought that the nightmare would end when all the companies were gone. Heart's death proved them all wrong.

"…Mark." Derrick greeted solemnly. 

"Hey." Mark replied, sitting by the lake that was just beside the Redfield estate. They knew each other from school, as well as from the war stories they heard about their parents. Contrary to what some people may believe, it really was difficult being popular. People talk about you, most others hate you for the simple reason that you look like you have it better off. 

"I'm sorry." Derrick said, customary, as he sat beside Mark on the cold, sharp grass. Both of them had their legs extended forward, leaning back and resting on their hands. "I don't even know what I'm still doing here." Mark told him. 

"…You knew her. That's more than I can say for the rest of us." 

"…She's gone now. And if she's the only one in this house who actually gave a shit that I existed…?" 

"You're…part of their family." Derrick said, hoping to comfort Mark. "You don't know that." He whispered to Barry's son, given up on hope. He knew that he was only there, because Heart wouldn't forgive either Chris or Jill if the person that she loved wouldn't be in her own funeral. "I should've been the one who died…not her." Mark continued, his eyes were once again stinging with salt water. 

"…Don't say that." Derrick wasn't there, but he knew what happened. Everyone did. Rumors were stories that turned into tortuous wraiths. In this case, the whole area of Stoneville became haunted.

"I can't let anyone see my face for what I did…I'm a failure even at killing myself. 

"…Maybe…it's God's way of saying that it wasn't your time?" 

"…Maybe. We…we were supposed to share all our classes together for this term. She was looking forward to that Literature class." 

"…It sucks anyway…" 

"Yeah, it does."

"…What are you going to do now?" 

"Other than space out wherever I go?"

"Yeah?" 

"…Habitat…for humanity. I think…I never… realized how important family is, you know? I mean… it's all that shit about caring for each other…standing by each other…but that's not just it. A family is something more. I don't know hot to explain it…but you get what I'm saying, right?" 

"…Yeah. I do."

              The sky was still gray when the guests headed back to their cars. Soft rain drizzled on their heads, some opted to use their umbrellas, while others didn't. Derrick kept an umbrella over his father's head as they traversed the wet grass, just as silent as the rest. He didn't know where Mark would truly go on from there, how long it would take him, and especially Jill and Chris, to recover from seeing their loved one in the coffin. "…Life is precious, isn't it?" Barry asked rhetorically, to no one in particular. Derrick always hated his father's semi-philosophical ramblings from ever since his accident. To him, his father's words were pointless.

"…Yeah." He rode along to his father's train of thought. In any light, life really was precious, but that is a fact that would always go unmentioned. Wind swirled about them, contorted into nymphs that seemed to take special interest in their melancholy. Derrick looked back on the beautiful house where Heart once lived. Beauty taken away. 

              In a gruesome fashion, the funeral was an open relief for Derrick, whose conscience kept on snapping at his neck. Sadness, tears, they were enough of a diversion for him. Unfortunately, the stall has ended, and he will soon find himself thrust back into the world of mixed truths and lies. As powerful as any nightmare, the thought of his interaction with Alex in the canteen warped back to his mind, like a blunt instrument. Alex hasn't called since then. 

              Barry didn't notice his son's obvious trepidation, in a way, he didn't bother to care. He knew his son was already of age, he could tackle his own problems. The old man was still involved in his own views of life, vindictive, bitter. He was ashamed of having a son that never excelled in anything, unlike his two beautiful daughters, the very symbols of perfection in his shattered life. Derrick was the epitome of mediocrity. Barry hated him for that.

"When is mom coming back?" Derrick asked his father. 

"…Next Sunday." The old man replied. "You asked me that question before we got out of the car." He then complained to his son, showing his disfavor once again. "…I forgot." Derrick responded, wondering why he ever thought he could open a window of conversation. "I'm more than twice your age…and my memory is still sharper. That isn't a good sign, boy." The old man then further berated. As always, Derrick kept a steady silence. "Where are we going now?" Derrick asked, desperate to change the subject. He was succeeding in keeping his mind off of Alex. 

"…Home, if that isn't obvious enough." The old man smirked, proud of his constant snippets. It was pathetic for a man to find pride in his ability to rebuke a person, and Barry has gone of the deep edge.

Author's note: So what if he is 3 years older than me? We look practically alike, we have the exact same attitude, I should be in that stupid commercial! Okay, now I am very shallow and obnoxious. If somebody calls me by his name again in school tomorrow, or if somebody mistakes me again for him, I am going to seriously wreck stuff. I'm joining an agency in the end of the year, I won't let him get another one over my head. Wow, it IS fun to vent. 


	5. New World

Author's note: Sorry that took long, but I was just planning a lot of stuff lately. Plus, the Pep Rally we organized is tomorrow, so we're all wishing that everything goes well, and especially that it doesn't rain, and that all the sponsors show up, and that our people don't screw up with the ushering, and that our PA's could do their job, and that I don't do something spectacularly stupid in front of live television. Bloody hell I'm nervous. That, and I'm putting some stock in my new fic "World without End". Figured that since all my stories are connected one way or another, I'd have to do something that concludes all of them. (In which case, many, many people will die)

Frenchy: Okay, I'm fine now. And I'm still waiting for your fanfic miss thing. Yep, all my stuff is intertwined, much like my currently confused life.

Hotaru: I could feel your cuteness from here. I can't say which commercial, because one of the bastard's people would now instantly. 

Rozwee: Thanks for the compli. If you're looking for action, try the new fic I'm working on, World without End. Shameless plug, I know.

Orion: Don't worry, we're cool. Besides, there's a whole ocean keeping me from doing something horrible to you.  

Chapter 5: "New World"

              It was still pouring heavily the next day, a school day. They lived in a world where students care as much for their hair as they do for American history, or perhaps even more. This new world was a succubus, tempting man and woman into the lure of masks and lies, all for the sake of perennial beauty. Truth is different, truth is a lie. The truth is what others perceive an object or a person to be, and that perception is what people live or die for. Like many others, like most others, Derrick was a victim of this new paradise, where the beautiful get what they want, whenever they want it. 

"So, have you guys done the survey?" Derrick asked KC and Aileen the moment he strode into the classroom. He was wearing a v-necked black shirt that plunged a little more than usual, showing more of his skin, as well as a pair of dark blue denim pants. A few admiring glances came his way. 

"And a good morning to you too." Aileen greeted, wearing the same shirt she did last week, before Derrick's life almost blew all over. KC didn't respond, but rather kept reading a pocketbook involving some man in a mask torturing a group of people over the administration of an opera house.

"I'm just a little down from yesterday." Derrick said, his own way of apologizing. 

"Is it okay to ask how a funeral went? I mean, should people ask if the funeral was okay, or if it was fine?" KC asked, not lifting his head from the book. 

"It was…wet." The young man responded, he didn't really want to get into any details about how he was feeling. "I got all the survey forms answered." Aileen then commented, taking out a handful of photocopied material. "Me too." KC added, not bothering to follow the girl's suit. 

"Okay…so, where's Jay?" Derrick then asked, taking a short glance around the room. A few other students already entered, but their group mate still wasn't there. "He says that he'll be late, traffic." KC answered, finally putting down his book and keeping it in his backpack. KC wore another shirt from Girbeaud, this time red in the front, and white in the back.

"It's weird, I haven't seen you and that Alex guy get separated ever since school started." Aileen brought up. "You two look good together." KC teased, not knowing how deep that statement actually went. "Uh…he's got a busy schedule. Student Council stuff." He immediately lied, a comment he thought up ages before school started. His friends bought it, though his delivery wasn't as convincing as it seemed. It was better though, than the silence, which he replied when his boyfriend asked him the question. It was in silence that Alex understood how much Derrick wanted to keep his identity a secret. Homosexuals weren't condemned by their friends, most of the case; they were condemned by their mothers and fathers. 

              Alex didn't utter a word when he was greeted by rejection, and looking down he turned away, leaving Derrick alone. When he asked Derrick if he wanted to be seen with him, it was the point where so much could have been molded. The chance, like so many others, was wasted. It was unfair, both the question and the circumstance, but humanity was never about fairness. Humanity is about closure. 

"You see, there is a reason, why Jesus Christ did not ask for his apostles to go look for him in Jerusalem." Dr. Protista was a short man, with pale white skin and a receding hairline. "And that is because Galilee was symbolic of something, something within each and every one of us." He began pacing in the front, holding captive the audience. A good thing about a dominantly Catholic University is that religious studies could fill up a student's entire schedule when he or she decides to drop Statistics. "Galilee is what we are. Galilee is our own physical, mental, emotional, and most of all, spiritual root. When Christ told the apostles to look for Him in Galilee, it was also a call, a call to look for Him within themselves. And that, is also what you're assignment is going to be." He stopped and took a piece of chalk. "You will be required to do a Bibliarasal." He wrote the word down as he spoke. "The Bibliarasal is a moment when you and your family would spend time, and explain them the true meaning of Galilee. This is also the time when you share with them what is your own Galilee." 

"Like, share your secrets?" a Chinese girl in front asked, to which the professor nodded. This immediately filled Derrick with a sense of dread. "It's a requirement?" he asked, to which the professor also nodded. "This project is twenty percent of your grade." The professor announced. Derrick took a deep breath and rested his face on open palms. _"Shit."_

Hallie took her car keys from a drawer and was about to leave when the phone suddenly rang. She wore a brown fitted, flannel shirt and a pair of black pants. _"Shit." _She immediately thought, a trait that got passed on to all her children. "Hello?" she asked the moment the receiver met her ear. "…Oh, Chris! Yes…he's here." Hallie put down her keys by the cradle, and brought the cordless unit all the way to the atrium where her husband was. "Barry, it's Chris. Sounds urgent." She reported as she handed the phone over to the old man, who simply snatched it from her hand without the slightest sight of gratitude. "I'll be going to Derrick's dorm." Hallie said, before leaving her husband. She was used to his estrangement. 

"Hello?" Barry's voice was his always, not to greet an old friend, not even to comfort one. He was wearing a black, turtleneck sweater, and pants of the same color.

"Barry, this is Chris, it looks like something's acting up." The man on the other line reported.

"What is it?" the old man asked nonchalantly, taking a sip of coffee. 

"There's a new player in town. Someone who's resurrecting old… and very much dead memories."

"Impossible. We demolished all the companies…all the data."

"From what we gathered, this one didn't belong to a company." 

"Then, why is he so much a threat?" Barry asked. 

"He knows things. Things that no man who wasn't there could possibly know." 

"…Hand of God? Gabriel Kane." 

"Yeah. All we know is that he dresses up as a preacher. Other than that…we have shit."

"…Wasn't he the one who Mr. Kennedy confronted a few years ago?"

"He's back."

              Hallie unlocked the door with the key that was left her by the administration of the condominium. It was still empty, meaning that her son's classes still weren't over. Some shirts were laid out in spectacularly horrid fashion, as if the place hasn't been cleaned for weeks. She smiled as she found the bed, still unmade from that morning. It was her very own request that the staff do not help her son clean his mess. She bent down and took a white shirt from the bed so that she could fold it and set it back in the drawer, but something underneath caught her eye. _"Oh my God." _

Alex heard a three soft knocks on his unit door just as he was about to undress for the day. He only succeeded in taking off his shirt before his urge to make the noise stop prompted him to open the door without looking at who is on the other side. "…Derrick." Alex greeted, with a look of fatigue. It was the expression meaning he didn't want to talk about it yet. Derrick had different plans. "I decided." He said, quickly getting his boyfriend's attention. 

"What is it?" Alex asked, letting the younger man in and then closing the door behind him. 

"I have to wait for the right time…to…tell my parents." He announced, clearing his voice. 

"…" After a short silence, Alex gave his boyfriend a tender smile, and gently leaned down to give him a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you." He whispered. Alex's room was different from Derrick's. It was smaller, simpler than the studios from the higher floors. "…Are you…busy tonight?" the younger man asked, watching his boyfriend prepare him a glass of water. "I have a big thing for tomorrow, report on the importance of categorical imperative or something…why?" 

"…Well…because I wasn't." Derrick was uneasy, and Alex instantly understood why. He put the glass down on the kitchen counter and walked over to Derrick. "It has to be special." Alex whispered, giving his boyfriend another kiss. "Let's wait until you tell them before we…" he ran his hand across Derrick's head, who smiled and nodded back.

"Want any help with that…assignment thing?" Derrick then asked. 

"…Nah, I'm used to going impromptu anyway, just had to organize a few ideas." Alex replied. 

"Oh." 

"…You know, this place really gets creepy in the dark." 

"…"

"Could you just…be here? Tonight?" 

"…" Derrick once again smiled and nodded. He wasn't good with words, so the recurring expression was his own way of showing his emotion. It wasn't always that Alex showed his sentiments either, so the area of being with each other in a different sense of the word, was still a new barrage to their senses. "…Want something to eat?" Alex then asked, pulling a bar of Butterfingers from his bag and then throwing it to his boyfriend. "I didn't say yes yet." Derrick objected, laughing, thought it didn't stop him from tearing the wrapper open. "You don't have to. It's your favorite." Alex reminded, opening his own preference, a bar of Reese. 

"You know, this isn't the healthiest choice for a dinner." Derrick stated, in between his chewing. 

"I know. I don't care." Alex replied, sitting down on his narrow bed, and motioning for his boyfriend to sit beside him. "…When are you planning to tell them?" Alex asked as Derrick sat down beside him.

"…This project we have for our religion class." Derrick said, referring to the Bibliarasal. Alex smiled knowingly at his boyfriend. "Last year, second term, it's also the reason why I came out of the closet." Alex narrated, taking another bite out of his chocolate bar. 

"Other than the fact that I couldn't bear to hide it…I felt like it was God's way of telling me to give it a go." Alex finished his snack and crumpled the wrapper, then throwing it into the wastebasket. 

"…I just don't get it though. I mean…what priests say…why does the Church…hate us?" he asked. "I mean, they're supposed to be the good guys, right?" Derrick looked worried, wondering how his decision would affect things in a grander scale, beyond his, or anyone else's perception.

"That's the thing. Zealots now…they're basing everything from words written thousands of years ago. People wrote those things from what they thought to be true. Things change."

"…God didn't write the Bible?" 

"In a way…He did, it's just that…He had to let people do it. It's those people's error that we see today as contradictions…you know, you'll get a whole term full of explanations in your course." 

"…"

"At the end…you'll have to do this exegetical study thing…maybe you can choose this topic for it. Explain why…you know…God doesn't hate people like us." 

"I don't even know the answer for myself." Derrick responded as he finished his snack. Alex threw the wrapper away for him. "Give it time." 

              Hallie sat silently in front of her husband inside the atrium. Her eyes were cast down, while his stared off into a different dimension. The only sounds that could be heard were from their soft breathing, and the minor movements that they made in order to at least be comfortable. "Are you certain?" Barry asked, finally breaking the silence. "I even checked the computer he left open." Hallie responded, brushing back her hair. "I should have read the signs." Barry noted, leaning back on his chair. "This doesn't make him any different." 

"Yes, it does." Barry objected. 

"Do you mean that this is all a psychological phase? Some sort of latency complex that never got resolved?" Hallie asked sarcastically. "He is still our son." 

"…Yes, he is, isn't he? And as a father…it is my duty to set him straight." 

"What do you propose?" Hallie suddenly felt a wave of panic when she heard the menacing tone of her husband's voice. "…I admit that I've never been the model of father figures…"

"You aren't even a cutout." Hallie cut, but was quickly silenced by a stern glare from her husband.

"I will be there for him." Barry continued. "Even if it means beating him to the ground." 

              Derrick couldn't sleep that night, thanks primarily to the decision he just made about revealing to his family, and to his world, what his sexual orientation was. The only comfort he had, was from the hands of Alex, who embraced him from behind as he slept. It was a wise decision for both of them not to pursue their more intimate interests, at least not yet, as Derrick was still fully clothed, save for his socks and shoes, and the same could be said about his boyfriend. 

              _"Will they accept me? What of they don't? What if they…?" _so many questions of personal insecurity filled his head, questions of trepidation and anxiety, all the prelude to his own self-gratification. Still, he forgot to put into account, that if he wasn't going to be accepted by others, he still had Alex by his side.

Author's note: A little subtle, but the little text above explains why I chose the title for this story. Hope you enjoyed, until the next time.         

  

       


	6. Drop Dead

Author's note: Sorry if that took immeasurably long, I just had a hectic week with the freshmen elections, plus the country's central business district just closed down because of a coup where some 200 military men rigged an entire mall with C4. Got to love this country. Oh, the police found blueprints, plans, and a stockpile of high-caliber rifles in one of the deposed president's condominium units, but he went ahead and alleged the government of framing him. Plus, his men aren't saying that they're "Power Grabbing", no, they're just saying that they want the top officials to resign. Somebody just fucking shoot them in the head, please. 

Hotaru: Agony indeed. 

Kate: Okay, though I'm only three years older than you, why not? 

Frenchy: Didn't want to bore you to death with the explanation, so big on the bleh. 

Orion's Shadow: By the way, to answer your question, I was watching a DVD of Buffy for five hours straight.   

Chapter 6: "Drop dead"   

"It doesn't matter." Her mother whispered, arguably an eternity after the words escaped Derrick's trembling lips. Light poured down onto the atrium, with Derrick standing in the company of the family he had lost to darkness past. The vision was angelic, almost surreal, but the young man, clad in a brown shirt and black denim pants, felt it enough to be real. His mother wore a white blouse, and pants of the sane color as his. Barry, who stood on both feet, wore a red turtleneck and a pair of cream slacks. A heavy white light coated all of them. 

_"…" _His mother stood up, and quickly gave him a soft hug, even though the look of disbelief in her face was something still clear in Derrick's memory.  The young man could feel a soft tear run down the side of his cheek from his mother's acceptance, but it was not enough to lift the veil of dread over what his father's reaction would be. 

"Dad?" he asked weakly, his mind numbed with fear. His father was a ghostly vision, a man who stood upright when he needed to. In one single moment, all time stopped, and then, slowly, sweetly, Barry smiled. Then Derrick's eyes opened.    

Thirty minutes before five in the morning, Derrick quietly excused himself from his boyfriend's arms. He didn't want to have to shower there and borrow Alex's clothes as well, feeling that it would be embarrassing to his boyfriend. Derrick fixed himself up just as he stood, turning to gaze at Alex's sleeping state. Another day was ahead of them, another day to set their destinies, or their downfall._"…" _Derrick took a warm shower in his own unit, not wanting to think about the day ahead, not wanting to dread about the fact that he would soon disclose his most guarded secret. 

He felt disappointed when the realization finally hit him that the angelic scenario was just a dream, concocted by all the trepidation bouncing off the inside of his head. It was a beautiful dream, one that he wanted to live out. He also admitted that it was too good to be true.  

              After a good ten minutes of relishing the warm water, he dried himself with a white towel and began to dress. A red, silk Armani shirt glided smoothly over his body; the price tag was worth it. One pair of black, denim pants and a brown jacket later and he soon was on his way to the rooftop. Beige tiles lined the floor the moment he walked into the deck, with a good number of plants lining the wall. To the right was a set of stairs, five steps, leading to an inclined plane that was made of wood. A good number of chairs and tables were there, neatly arranged. Farther off was a small swimming pool, while another right meant an air-conditioned, dining area.

              It was beautiful, but it was not the reason that Derrick went up there early each morning. The sky was painted in violet and blue, with streaks of white clouds slashed across the sky. Up there the wind was stronger, but still comforting. Derrick's shoes creaked as he made his way up the short set of steps, so he could get a better view of Stoneville. Sure, the area was closed off that hour, but the staff still lets him go there. Streetlights were still open, lining the streets with a comforting glow. A few cars were already roaming about, heading off into their professions in so early an hour. 

"Derrick." A feminine voice interrupted. The young man turned to find his mother making her way to him; sleeplessness was clearly evident in her eyes. She was wearing a black blazer to cover her red top. She also sported a pair of brown pants. Arms crossed, Hallie made her way to her son, who stood there in muted surprise. "Is something wrong?" he asked, clearly noticing her mortified expression. 

"You tell me." She responded in a soft voice, taking out a brown paper bag and handing it to him. 

"What is…this?" his mind stopped, and so did his heart, the moment he saw the magazines in the bag. Magazines directed to the coupling of the same sex, the very magazines that he did not find in his bed just a few moments ago. Magazines that he owned. _"Holy shit." _He thought. 

"I followed you up here…" she said, offering a quick explanation to a question that he would no doubt ask. One subject change cannot be longer used. 

"What are these?" Derrick asked, acting innocent. He always played out some routine sin his mind if ever got caught with incriminating evidence. Turns out he stuttered more when it came to the real thing. Turns out that being a member of the Harlequin Theater Guild had its merits, as he still came off a bit believable. 

"I found those on your bed." His mother responded sternly, not wanting to waste any time with BS. "…Did you show them to dad?" Derrick asked weakly. He thought that his mother would be more understanding, but it really didn't turn out that way from the looks of things. He'd hate to think of what his father would say. "He didn't want to talk about it." She responded. Her voice was grim, menacing. It was a side of her that Derrick has never before seen. 

"I…needed them for my…" the young man stuttered. He thought of a half-baked excuse on how he needed it for his report in Sociology. His mother's brow arched up, her patience getting thin. 

"You've denied it before when I went digging in the history pages about a month ago. Remember?" 

"…"

"I have never seen the girlfriend that you claim to have."

"…"

"Tell me the truth."

"…Mom…I'm…" 

              The wind cracked and the skies dimmed as the afternoon rolled in. Barry sat once again on the porch, uncaring of the kraken breeze that pounded at him. Chris, Jill and the rest of the survivors, even Sherry who was now twenty-seven years old, were rallying somewhere for a grand strike against one of the new players. They asked Barry to join them in the upcoming war, but he respectfully declined. In the distance, he watched as his wife's Cadillac came up the driveway. The images of his wife in a tantrum played over in his mind, something he admittedly was not accustomed to.  

              Alex sat in silence as he watched Derrick lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was five thirty in the afternoon, a good twelve hours since his mother apparently turned away from him in absolute disgust. He could still feel the woman's spirit fade at his words, as if she truly did give up her fight for him. "She didn't say anything?" Alex asked, with Derrick's reply coming in the form of silence. It meant yes. "I still think you should have at least gone to class." Alex commented, but it still didn't incur any response from his boyfriend. He didn't admit to being slightly irritated at the fact that he cut all his classes as well just to be with Derrick, even though he didn't feel the slightest bit of appreciation for his act. 

"…Things are going to get better." Alex reminded, still trying his best to uplift Derrick's devastated self. "Just give it time."  He followed. Derrick nodded, though he still did not utter a word, it was still a relief for Alex.   

              Night fell on Stoneville City, with varying effects. Some people come in, others come out. It was an evening that Derrick decided to take a walk, grab some fresh air from the claustrophobic feeling that he had from his condominium. He had a brown, seersucker jacket on, covering a black shirt and a pair of pants that were of the same color. Domestic issues or not, he knew how to dress well. It was a quarter past eleven in the evening, with only a few people left chatting in the darkened streets. 

Even though the building he just exited was yet another pinnacle of luxury, the cold, concrete sidewalk had much left to desire. A slew of second hand establishments the size of a room each lined the sidewalk, complementing a University Mall where the students spent time for a little more liberal recreation. As grainy as the UM was, the rich and powerful elite of the school a few feet away did not mind spending their time there. Counter-Strike was still the top rented game. 

              A passing vendor, one who held a cabinet full of cigarettes and junk food in his hands, quickly got Derrick's attention. He was a dirty middle-aged, balding man who had a faded denim jacket to cover a stained white shirt. The young man signaled for a smoke by pressing his middle and index fingers together and placing them near his mouth. With a nod, the vendor obliged, not really caring about the law that smoking was prohibited in public areas. No one really did. 

"Really late, kid." The vendor commented as he helped the young man light the stick. 

"Slept the whole day, anyway." Derrick responded, feeling more open to a stranger than to his own significant other. "You're the kid in the mobile phone commercial aren't you?" the vendor asked.   

"No. But I know the guy; he's one batch up from me. People say we look alike." 

"Oh." The vendor nodded, ready for the awkward silence to kick in. Personally, Derrick didn't like being compared to other people, even if he knew that being compared to the person in the commercial was a definite complement. He wanted to be known for who he was. Derrick thanked the vendor and promptly resumed his walking, past a McDonalds, and right by the dimly lighted South gate of his campus. Arched, white concrete hovered over the steel, green gates that covered the entirety of the view within. A steel fence painted green extended up to the next, smaller gate which was just a few feet away, small but practical. 

              Derrick found it a habit to stay there, much like he did when he was in the summer ambassador program even before the classes started. It was ironic how he grew to be somebody well-known, how the number of people who befriended and trusted him multiplied exponentially, all the while his family was drifting farther and farther apart. He shook his head, and then blew a puff of smoke into the cool night air. No one knew he smoked. 

"Derrick Burton?" asked a hooded, middle-aged man who appeared from the shadows. Two other men followed him, all of them quite large. Derrick instantly noticed that they were built, even though their bodies were hidden beneath thick jackets and plaids. Posture, formation, a telltale crew cut on one of the men to his left, Derrick was sure that these people had a military background. Instinct that his father taught him urged him to turn back to his condominium as fast as he could. Apathy told him otherwise. 

"Is there a problem?" he calmly asked, indirectly affirming an answer to the question. The three men did not respond, only looked at the young man menacingly. Derrick scoffed and dropped his cigarette, then stomped the small flame out with the instep of his shoe. He had his back to the locked gates, with the three men in an arc in front of him, making walking away a bit of a chore. 

"We want to give you a message, freak." The hooded man hissed, as his right hand shot up from his side and slugged Derrick across the jaw. It was so fast, so forceful, that only a muffled grunt escaped Derrick's mouth as he fell down, down to the adjacent point where the hinges of the gate met with the protruding doorway. In an instant, hard boots pounded on him, all the while the wall kept him in a sitting position. 

              Derrick tried to sway the constant pummeling by shielding himself with his arms, but it was of no avail. Sudden explosions of discomfort filled his body as he slid lower and lower to his back; each kick and punch overwhelming his senses. He wanted to scream, call for help, but the pain wouldn't let him. He heard them taunt him, refer to his sexual orientation. They knew. They hated. They did not stop. A strong boot to the temple cracked his head back, slamming the back of his head on the hard wall. Blood began to trail from there. Two ribs broke in an instant, his elbow got fractured, he even felt as if there was a crack in his skull. 

              All of a sudden, his mind trailed to the events that led him there, what he said, what he felt, and he also imagined of the things to come. He thought of what his confrontation with his father was going to be like, how his friends would react, everything. Something in the back of his mind told him that now, he would never know. A strong fist then pounded against his forehead, blurring his vision with pain. He was losing his breath with each blow, and the pain was becoming greater and greater without the slightest relent. Alex came to his mind. His touch, his smile, the warmth of his skin. 

              A small tear fell from Derrick's eye, not from the searing pain that he felt, but rather, it was from the opportunities that he lost. That he could lose. Seconds later, another blow to his head knocked him unconscious, turning him over to the tide of darkness. The hooded man then extended his arms to his sides, as to stop his other two companions from doing further damage. The image of the bloodied man was one to stain their minds as they finished what it was that they set out to do. 

              Barry watched the rain pour from inside his house, something of an everyday occurrence those times. His wife hasn't said a word to him at all the moment she stormed into the house, as much of an occurrence as the rain, he felt. He wondered why it took her all that time to drive back, but he immediately dismissed it as time spent for reflection. Or anger management. She was sleeping beside him now, while his attention was still half-buried with the book he was reading and with his son. With a loud sigh, he closed the book and turned off his night light, and then proceeded to sleep. 

Author's note: Oh dear God, I hope I don't kill anyone again, I'm pretty sick of killing people off. That would have to come later. Well hope you enjoyed silly sweater monkeys, and I hope the ex-president and his cronies (you know who you are you soulless pigs) all get life in prison. I couldn't shop because of your stupid-ass coup. 

  

       


	7. Reflection

Author's note: I thought I'd never get to write again. 

Hotaru: Philippines, you can look for the news on the mutiny in Yahoo News. 

Frenchy: You make it sound like I have some twisted obsession with murdering people.

Chapter 7: "Reflection" 

           _"…It took awhile before the text message sunk in, I was still in bed. I'm pretty sure the whole student body already knew by the time I woke up. Somebody attacked Derrick, and I won't lie when I tell you that I feel responsible, that I am responsible for this. I pushed him to reveal something he didn't want to, and look what it got him. I knew that something bad could happen…but not like this. I believed that people actually had more open minds than before." _

The sirens shrieked through the peaceful morning, a sheer distraction from the beautiful hail of light that poured down on the streets of Stoneville. It was five in the morning when the guards found the battered body of Derrick Burton on the front gates of the University, with the word "faggot" spray-painted across the green gates in red ink. It was a time honored cliché of gender-specific hate crimes, but it still worked well. In an instant, the news spread like wildfire across the college community through text messages and calls. In an instant, Derrick's secret came out, and he was unconscious while it happened. He was at the brink of existence and shadows. 

              _"I had an exam by eight o'clock. Fuck it. My knees were still sore from basketball practice, but I didn't care. They say that the environment changes through the will of some people, that when people get sad, it rains, when people are happy, the sun shines. I wanted it to rain, but it didn't."  _

              It was seven in the morning when Barry and his wife watched over the body. His handsome features were covered by machinery and bandages, leaving only a horrid shell of his former self. The room was larger than most others, white in color. Barry had his arm around his wife's shoulder, something uncharacteristic since he was internally crippled by Umbrella's creation. Hallie kept silent, still remembering the doctor's words earlier on. _"Your son has a concussion, and a good number of bones have been broken." _It wasn't the most euphemistic of messages, but neither husband nor wife settled for anything like double-speak. 

              _"I was speeding through the streets, there weren't much cars yet that early in the morning. Fact is, the streets were practically empty, making me think, want to think, that it was all just some dream. I wanted to wake up, and I haven't even seen the body yet…God…how courageous was I? I wasn't ready to see, to feel the repercussion of his coming out."  _

              Both of them knew the possible long-term damages that there could be once he wakes up, from a perennial limp to retrograde amnesia. They didn't even know if the blow to his temple was enough to permanently damage his cornea, and consequently, his vision. Neither of them wanted to know, at least not yet. There was an invisible taboo, a shadow that twists their stomachs each time they even attempted to utter a word. 

              _"Nothing felt right. When I got to the highway, I finally got to see some cars, at least some semblance of life. I almost went far as thinking, wishing that they were all part of this grizzly nightmare of mine. I make a quick u-turn under the skyway, and manage to swerve right into the smaller lane in the hospital zone. I almost collided with another car, now, someone hates this plate number for life." _

              The sound of the honking horns from a floor below entered through the open window. A taxi softly bumped into a doctor's luxury car, causing a small line of cars behind them. It was still bright outside, warm. It did nothing for the vacuum inside the husband and wife. Barry had on a black sweater, while Hallie clad in violet. An hour ago, they heard that their son was rushed to the hospital after being seriously assaulted. Their daughters still do not know. They did not need to know. 

              _"A good number of cars were piled up in the arc shaped driveway, some idiot bumped into another car. I didn't have time for that. This was my uncle's car anyway, and since he owned the place, I could park it anywhere I fucking want. Let them give me a ticket I thought as I jumped out of the Volkswagen and ran up to the main lobby. I knew that this was the place. This was where they took Derrick a year ago when he had a car accident. His car, my car. This was where we first met."_

              Barry wanted to comfort his wife, but in all reality, he did not know how. He forgot what it was like to speak from his heart, and not from his ferocious mind. The old man exhaled softly and walked up to his child, feeling how it is finally to care for him once again. With a trembling hand, he touched the bandaged forehead of his son, and closed his eyes. As if on cue, the memory of days, years gone by played back in his mind, when his son was still a boy that he could carry in his arms. Nights that they would spend together in the wooden balcony, watching the endless array of stars so high in the night. Barry shook his head and quickly took a step away from the body.

              _"I raced up the stairs, after having to argue with the nurse as to where Derrick was. She asked me what my relation to the patient was. For some reason, I couldn't answer. I just knew that he was there. I didn't know what to do when I finally found my way. I was out of breath, in front of the door where they were."   _ 

              With her hand over her mouth, Hallie kept motionless, watching her husband reach back into humanity. Tragedies really did have a strong tendency to unite people ravaged by their personal conflicts and demons. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she took a deep breath. She placed her hand over her chest and took a seat on a nearby chair. Her husband glanced at her, his eyes asking for an explanation, but he quickly turned away before she could find one.

"…Barry…" she called softly.

"Look at what happens to children who don't listen to their fathers." The old man responded bitterly, still looking away from both his wife and his son.  

               _"I could hear footsteps shuffle from the other side. I lost my breath trying to get there, but when the moment came, I felt my heart stop. What was I going to tell them? They knew I was his best friend…no, they knew that I was more than that. I didn't know if they were going to blame me for their son, for everything about their son. I played out different scenarios in my mind, mostly ones that had them scream at me for existing."  _

              A soft knock on the door then interrupted them, with a young man coming inside a short second after. Slowly, Alex came in, his face twisted by horror and confusion. For years, Hallie and Barry knew him as their son's best friend. Now, they knew that, to Derrick, he was something more, something much more. His mouth was half open as he walked in, then nodding at both husband and wife as he approached the body, as if a request for acceptance. They nodded back in silence. He was wearing a small, but loose beige shirt. With a deep breath, he made his way by the head of Alex's bed, with the glass windows behind him such that Barry was on the opposite side from where he stood. 

              _"I was afraid of how they would react when they saw me. The moment I stepped into the room, I realized how much I wanted to have never seen him like that. My heart didn't just stop when I saw him there, motionless, I felt like it sunk into some deep abyss. What really hit me was how helpless I was. I promised him that I was going to be there, to help him through each step of the way."_

"…" Alex crossed his arms in front of him and kept his eyes on his boyfriend, with Barry keeping his hands in his pockets, doing the same. Sunlight highlighted most of the room, accenting the clear bruises and scars on Derrick's arms and face. It made Alex shiver. For the longest time, they just stood there, bathed in silence, in sunlight. 

_"I didn't do well on my promise." _

              The Z2 canteen was alive with people, sharing stories, some related to Derrick, some not. In two days or so, this will pass, and people would resume talking about their lives. But that would be in two days. They were there now, and the revelation of a popular student's sexual orientation, as well as the fact that he was badly beaten, already sent some students into a frenzy. KC, Jay, and Eileen did not join the rambles of human perception. Around the plastic table, they sat, not speaking. A physics book was on the table, beside a half-eaten saucer of macaroni right in front of Aileen. Jay and KC had unfinished rice meals on their plates. They all decided that they needed something to eat before they study for the exam together, but found that they really couldn't. 

              Aileen, clad in her favorite blue, collared top, poked the food with her fork, watching the people go by. KC, in a plain red shirt, looked down, once again lost in some distant oblivion. Jay, wearing a brown, plaid shirt, scratched the back of his head and took out his file case, and then began to rummage through his endless notes. "My last exam sucked." Aileen whispered in a barely audible voice as she put down the fork and began to look around. A few people she knew passed by and waved at her, and she waved back unenthusiastically. 

"Do you think he'll be okay?" she then asked, not looking either one of her friends in the eye. KC shrugged sadly, and then signaled for them to begin leave and begin studying by pointing his lips to the doors. With another deep breath, Aileen nodded, and eyed Jay who begun to put his notes back into the file case. Almost at once, all three of them stood up, deposited their plates on the carrels, and promptly left. Hungry, but not at all. 

"Alex texted…said things aren't looking up." KC said, referring to the text message he received a few minutes ago. He said it earlier, but found that it was worth repeating it again. 

"…So, he and Alex are…?" Aileen asked, looking ahead as they walked through the open expanses of the beautiful university. 

"Maybe." Jay replied with a shrug.  

              No one in campus truly knew if he was gay or not, but the notion was enough for the resident gay and lesbian organization to let out a frustrated howl. Sexual orientation or not, the crime was still directed to a homosexual, and it meant that they had to do something about it. The student council knew as well that human rights were violated, and was already setting to make sure that the voice of the student body be heard. Some students on the other hand did not care at all.  

              _"I waited in that room in absolute silence, hoping that Derrick would suddenly wake up. I'm sure that it was what his parents were doing as well; thinking that they were alone, one on one with their son, in their own separate worlds. I wanted to talk to him, even though I knew he wouldn't answer. I didn't know what I wanted to say, but I just wanted to…speak, to say something, anything. Only I couldn't. I was afraid of what his parents would do, how they'd react. For the first time since I came out of the closet, I was ashamed of who I was. What I caused them." _

Alex shifted his weight, beginning to get mindful of the two other conscious people in the room. He felt like he was being scrutinized, put under some sort of mental microscope. He thought that maybe, they were beginning to see the situation for how it really was, that there really was some bond between their son and his best friend. That, or they only keep him in that room out of courtesy to their half-dead child. The sun was high up in the sky, blazing, an hour before it would begin to hide.   

              _"They asked me once or twice if I wanted something to eat, lunch, dinner, and in the end, it was me who volunteered watching over him while they got something to eat. At least they trusted me enough, or had no choice, whatever, but I was glad to have some free time with Derrick. Maybe they read my mind, maybe they knew that I wanted to have some time alone with him."_

With a nod, both of them left, some invisible mode of communication was evident, as they seemed to speak at each other through their now cold eyes. Breathing, footsteps, then the creak of the door softly closing, they all sounded momentous to Alex who waited for the chance to finally be alone. For a moment, he did not know what to do. A million suggestions came at once, talk to him, kiss him on his forehead, anything. For some reason, he knew that Derrick's parents were going to take their time, talk things over objectively.  

_              "Without even realizing it, I was already on my knees, his hands in mine, praying to God that everything would be alright. To tell you the truth, it's been a long time since I really prayed, I mean, get down on my knees, stuff like that. I believe in Him sure, but I was one of those Sunday Christians, the ones who only act Christianly on Sundays."_

A tear in his eye; Alex leaned over and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the forehead. "We'll get through this." He whispered to the motionless body, squeezing his grip on the other boy's still warm hand. "I promise." With that, he got up on his feet and wiped the salt water away from his cheek. He looked to the door to find Barry and his wife stepping in, but not seeing or hearing what had just transpired seconds before. There was a grim expression on their faces, but nothing worse than what Alex had seen earlier before. 

"Well, maybe God wanted to slap me hard in the face. He does move in mysterious ways after all. Anyway, I didn't know why I did it, I expected to bust out some dramatic monologue at first, but then…something just came over me. When I went home that evening, I somehow felt as if things were going to be all right, it was as if someone reassured me that a miracle was to happen. I didn't know how wrong I was."  

Author's note: Looks like bad news is in the horizon.               

  

       


	8. Perspective

Author's note: Whoa, I'm still alive, I can't believe it. To all my valued readers ( all 2 of you) sorry about the sudden absence. I had a hell of a lot of things in my hands (besides friendster) By the way, did everyone else get an invitation from fanstory.com or should I be feeling special (or delayed or whatever…)? Anyway, for those who are still there, we're reaching the strange plotaholic twisty doo that I love so much…just not yet. 

Hotaru and Frenchy: Missed you! 

Chapter 8: "Perspective" 

            A sense of déjà vu overcame Hallie as she walked in front of the University, a feeling that easily made goose bumps crawl all over her skin.  It was still early morning, with the sky pouring down in a blue watermark. Her rose-colored jacket and dark brown pants seemed to stick out of the lifeless haze that surrounded her. She had time to think, time to feel regret and time to feel self-righteous, all at the expense of the health of her son. She heard that they were forming a rally to support her son right in the very street in front of the university. The street was previously an extremely wide one, until the construction of a light rail transit above it cut the street in half, completely revamping the flow of traffic, with each side representing one flow of traffic. 

                _"…This is where it happened." _Hallie thought to herself as she read a large banner proclaiming homosexual rights in bright red ink. Although in another plane of thought, it would have touched her how much her son positively affected these people, Hallie was there for different reasons. She knew that something bad might very well happen when he would come out of the closet, but not too soon. Something else was wrong. _"…Mockingbird."_   

            Sunlight cascaded down from the heavens, giving off a surreal glow that made everything seem like a mad dream. In a city where everyone tries to fit in, being mad is the only way to get noticed. The mad and the wicked; those who do not succumb to the disease that reaps into the human imagination and then degenerates it swiftly. That cold October, madness once again took helm while the wicked watch and fuel themselves. Some people say that the masses are ignorant sheep that are herded by what people in power do. At times, they are right.  

                Young Madeline watched the car beside theirs from her backseat window, wondering who was behind the tinted glass. She was always one to wonder, characteristic of children. At seven, she already had a bright future ahead of her, with beautiful blue eyes that could see through what others could not, fiery auburn hair that fell down to her shoulders, and perfect hands that could shuffle through the notes of Mozart to the stroke of Picasso in but minutes. 

"Are you alright there, honey?" the woman in the passenger seat, her mother, asked. She was the one whom Madeline earned her red locks from. Both of them were artists. Madeline nodded and smiled, then resumed looking out the window. They were in an old Toyota, while the car beside them was a silver Cadillac. "Want to drive by McDonald's?" she then asked, to which the little lady politely declined. "I can't believe this traffic." The father said as he switched gears the moment the traffic lights flashed the signal to drive full speed; yellow. He was in his thirties, short blonde hair, while his wife was just a year before hitting thirty herself. Like almost everyone else living a healthy lifestyle; their age did not show. 

"They're making sure the highway doesn't get blocked up. That's the problem with riding through the small roads." Madeline's mother sighed as she put on a pair of thick, black sunglasses. She then checked the clock on the dashboard panel, it was three in the afternoon. 

"Hey, look at that." The husband murmured as they passed a small build up of vehicles that were changing to the left lane. "Maddie, close your eyes." The father suddenly ordered, and the little girl did comply. Over to the right lane shortly parked a truck that had poles horizontally sticking out from its back; it was headed for a construction site, but had to stop for a short fix with the tire. A motorcycle carrying a pair of young lovers were eager to get to where they were going and overtook a massive Ford, only to come face to face with the pole at full speed. Ironically, both their hearts were bored out as the steel pole impaled one through the other. It wasn't a commercialized block, so at least only a few people had to witness the police pulling the corpses out of the poles since they didn't want to waste time with the hacksaw. 

"…I saw the exact same thing in the Japanese channel once." Muttered the father as they finally got through the accident site. 

"What was that, daddy?" Madeline asked, still closing her eyes. 

"…Nothing, sweetheart." The mother quickly responded to her daughter's innocent inquisition.

                After some time, the traffic once again got sickeningly thick. "What is this…?" the husband asked himself as he peered out the window. A good number of other cars concealed his view, but he could still make out a bevy of people in a massive vigil, just outside the school gates. "They're holding some prayer rally for that poor kid who got beat up." His wife responded, pointing him move a little more forward to follow the car that slightly inched forward. "He didn't deserve what happened to him." She then added, talking as if she actually knew him.

"…I guess…we can't really be rid of racism here." The husband muttered to himself uncomfortably as he switched in between gears. 

"What's happening over there?" suddenly asked the little girl who got a clear glimpse of the people through her window. "Why are there many people?" she then asked. 

"…They're praying, honey." The father responded, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"For what?" came the consequent reflex. She had her eyes glued on them. There was a young, blonde man on a podium that addressed the crowd. "Something bad happened there. An innocent person got really hurt." The father then responded. His wife turned to look at him, noticing the uncharacteristic strain in his voice. "Anything wrong?" she asked, but her husband did not reply to her question.

"What did that person do? Why did he get hurt?" 

"Well, because he was…uh…different." The father answered; not certain of how he could explain such a touchy subject to her curious daughter. "You mean happy?" she then asked, nervous, as if she was in fear of being the same. 

"Excuse me?" the father then turned to look outside, noticing the banner proclaiming the rights of gay individuals on the sidewalk a short distance away. Madeline must have spotted it, and used her own definition of the word. 

"Uh no, not really." 

"Then what is it, daddy?" the little girl asked, a little more impatient.

_"Why did we have to drive through here?" _the father asked himself as he rummaged his mind for an answer. That was when he noticed Hallie stare at him from a distance, her eyes prodding and inquisitive, but frighteningly merciless at the same time. She uttered something from her lips, but from their distance, it was impossible for the father to hear or decipher. 

"Daddy?" the girl asked again, distracting the father from the intimidating image of the woman. 

"Maybe we should talk about this when we get home. Your daddy and mommy are very tired." The mother intervened on her husband's behalf. "Thanks." He whispered to her with his lips, before realizing that the cars were once again beginning to move.    

"Krista?" It was evening, with the husband calling his wife to join him in the kitchen. The house was spacious, set in a village that was clearly upper-middle class. Madeline, in a red dress, was playing with a doll near the doorway, while her parents were three wide rooms away. "Allen?" she asked as she approached him behind a counter. She has just showered, with her hair barely dried and her body still in a white bathrobe. " I think we should move." He said, softly, but still somewhat abruptly. "Excuse me?" the woman asked him, at first thinking it was a joke, but soon found herself imitating her husband's serious expression. "We live in a perfectly fine neighborhood, the on we've been living in for five years now." "…I know but…" "You don't want Maddie to labeled as one of those military brats, do you?" she then continued. She was always like that, one who piles on question after question to whittle down any argument. That night however, the husband was not easy to back down. "It could be dangerous for her, you, to stay here." He rebutted, something he was not particularly fond of saying, but words that have left his mouth before nonetheless. "If I was afraid of danger, I wouldn't have hopped merrily to Church when a military officer popped the big question." She argued back, her hands on her waist. "And besides, it isn't like we have enough cash for another transfer." 

_"… Five years…and I already have so much bad memories." _he thought to himself, particularly about the last job he just pulled. "And besides…" his wife continued, when a sudden blackout cut her from finishing. "Mommy! Mommy!" cried Maddie from the lobby, to which the mother instantly went running off to. It was pure instinct for a mother to protect her child, even if it is merely the absence of light that frightens. 

"I'm going to fix the fuse box!" the father announced, taking out a flashlight from one of the kitchen cupboards. He heard an affirmation from his wife, but she was then out of view. He never realized how dark their house was, save for the few beams of moonlight that fell from the windows. When he was a child, he was always afraid of the dark, imagining the strangest creatures lurking from beneath the floorboards and the stairways. Of course, growing up in the real world, one with guns, rapists and racists, soon changed that. There was no point in being scared of ghosts, since they cannot touch you. 

"Maddie." The mother kneeled by her daughter, who in turn seemed to be dazed. A light drizzle already began to wash against the windowpanes, and that was where the little girl's eyes were locked. It was mere seconds when the mother trailed her daughter's eye of sight, to find a woman watching them right outside the window. 

                In the other end of the house, Allen slipped on a green jacket to protect himself from the escalating cold. Flashlight in hand, he turned left, and after a few feet of wet grass, found the house's fuse box. _"Jesus…" _he nearly dropped the flashlight when he saw the fuse box torn open, circuitry dangling down like dead snakes pounded by a shovel. In an instant, he knew that something was wrong. Obviously, dreadfully wrong. And he has just left the rest of his family defenseless in the darkness. "Maddie! Krista!" he quickly shouted at the top of his lungs, doubling back and rushing straight into the house. Mud splashed against the polished floorboards as he found himself back in the kitchen. Training dictated that he not rush into anything remotely dangerous, organize his thoughts, and go in with a plan. He did none of those things. 

                He cried the names of his wife and daughter once again, but was only met with a numbing silence. "Krista! Maddie!" he rushed onto the living room, the flashlight his only shield against the darkness. Only their welfare entered his fear-stricken mind, and right now, neither of them were in sight. He was almost afraid of what he would find popping out of the night. "They say that the greatest tragedy for a parent…" suddenly whispered a woman's voice, slithering, almost colder than the night air. "…is to lose a child." She finished. 

                Allen turned and aimed his light on Hallie, standing like a ghost before the living room set. She was in a black denim jacket and a dress underneath sporting the same color. In the play of darkness and light, her figure was absolutely terrifying, the light flashing against her eyes as if the man was just prey. "…Oh my God…" something else struck the man's senses, other than the woman  holding a silencer in her left hand. On the couch behind her were propped Krista and Maddie, holding hands, both with blood trailing down from holes in their foreheads. "She was a beautiful child. Gifted." Hallie muttered as the man stood there in ghostly shock. "And so was mine."

                Suddenly, she pulled out a steel poker that she kept behind her with her right hand, and swung it at full force across Allen's temple. He gasped out in pain as he fell to the ground, the flashlight rolling away to beyond his reach. No words could describe the surge of pain he felt inside and out as he weakly rolled onto his back, just in time to see Hallie hold the poker up high, and crash it on his face. Hallie did it over and over, smiling and chuckling to herself as she finished. The rain then stopped.  

Author's note: Has Hallie gone MAD?        


	9. Hush

Author's note: Almost done. 

Hotaru: Hope you don't get disappointed.

Chapter 9: "Hush" 

Barry looked out into the tree line, in his usual rocking chair in the porch. It was raining, and he felt the misty splash of water melt against his equally cold skin. He had a black turtleneck jacket on, unzipped, with a gray shirt underneath. His jacket matched his slacks. The old man should be with his son, by his side, but there he sat alone. Hallie was out again somewhere, possibly crying, possibly screwing other men, probably screwing other women. _"How could things planned so well go so wrong?" _he thought. There was a newspaper in his hand, headlining the murder of a man and his family while they were in their house. The killer shorted the electricity running through the house to turn off the lights, and then used a handgun to shoot through the window when the mother and the daughter were in plain view, leaving the husband to be bludgeoned to death a little while later. It was more than a coincidence, he thought, that one of the people he hired for the short job ended up dead. 

              He rested his chin on his right hand, feeling his age kill off any sort of initiative inside of him. In his mind, he would have wanted to make peace with the world before he left. From where his son is now, that didn't seem quite possible. Events were unfolding too quickly, everything was out of control. It was only then that he saw his vision, his dream, come to a startling reality. It made his skin prickle as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His dream in exchange for his son's future.

              A good number of miles away was a vigil, a rally on the streets in front of the university, one in revolt of the recent hate crime that occurred just outside campus. There stood in prayer dozens of faces, young and old, united by their revolt of what they deemed as a hate crime. United, just as it was in Barry Burton's dream. He had seen these things happen before, notably when a person was murdered simply because she was a lesbian. It threw the humanitarians into frenzy. Derrick was not dead, yet, but these people acted as if he was. The old man felt as if they were using his son as a means for their voices to once again be heard, and for the first time in the longest time, he was bothered. 

              A little while longer, a Cadillac made its way through the beaten path, and then emerged Hallie. She only had a brown overcoat and a violet scarf circled like a hood to protect her from the howling current. Like her husband, she did not mind the wind or the cold. "We have a fireplace inside, you know?" she remarked as she walked into the house, with her husband still looking out the tree line. He knew; he just did not mind. The last time he felt anything other than the loss of hope for humanity was back when he lost his leg to the virus. "…"

"You know Barry…you may want to fix the gas lines of this house. You may never know when freak accidents may occur." Hallie told him before closing the door. Her voice was colder than his. 

_"We don't really know when he'll be waking up." _

_"What do you mean, you don't know? What are we paying you for?" _

_"Mrs. Burton, we are really sorry, but there really is nothing more we can do."_

The short conversation played out in her head. Hallie's eyes were cold, lifeless. She did not even blink. The fluorescent lights above her flickered as she walked the dirty, gray, halls of the apartment complex. She had her entire body covered by a dark brown overcoat, with brown boots that thudded heavily on the floor even though she seemed to fly through the path like a haze or ghost. The brown doors were all locked, though it looked like a single boot from someone as frail her could have taken it down. A man from the other end of the corridor gave her a glance, and then continued to walk away into where he could not be seen. 

Her eyes trailed the blind corner where the man turned, and then she focused on a door to her right. "Hush little baby…don't say a word…" she sung to herself in a voice barely above a whisper. "…Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird…" She took a leather-gloved hand out of her pocket and knocked thrice on the door. A few seconds after, a young blonde woman answered the door, her face radiantly contrasting the darkness of the building. If she knew the right people, then she could definitely have been a movie star. The lady wore a pink top and a pair of faded jeans. She had beautiful blue eyes. "Yes?" she asked, her face open with a warm, welcoming smile. 

The elderly woman returned the smile, and then pulled out a small, plastic handgun with a silencer on its barrel, and promptly shot the young lady through the gut. Her little girl cried out her name, and then followed her husband into view. "What…?" he stopped in his tracks, his view shifted from his wife's body on the floor, to the emotionless woman on the doorway. "…And if that mockingbird don't sing…" Hallie stepped into the small apartment, painted beige. To her immediate right was the refrigerator, connected to a well-kept kitchen, and a small table with three chairs. The den and the bedroom was to her right. "…Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring…" 

Closing the door with her left hand, she kept her aim on the husband, who kept his weeping child behind him defensively. There was anger in his eyes, there was also sadness, and the greatest hint of overflowing fear. "Don't hurt my little girl…" the man half-pleaded and half-ordered; his military training did not extend to bargaining for the life of his daughter. He was built, wearing a gray tank top and a pair of black jogging pants. Hallie smiled, and then shot him through the kneecap. With a loud cry, the man fell on one knee, while his daughter once again began to scream. 

"…And if that diamond ring turns brass…" With uncharacteristic strength and accuracy, she moved forward and slammed the butt of her gun across his jaw, completely breaking it. The man fell back on his shoulders, his face grimacing with pain that he now could not express. "…Mama's going to buy you a looking glass…" she stepped in front of him, the fluorescent light somewhat highlighting her external features. She raised her gun and aimed it at the father's head. _"Run, Janine!" _The father wanted to yell, at the very top of his lungs, but his jaw would not permit it. She then repositioned the gun, aimed it at his other knee, and with a trigger, crippled him. Then, all of a sudden, before finishing him off, Hallie turned and made her way to the little girl who was hugging herself against the point where the two walls met. 

           "…And if that looking glass gets broke…" She closed in, while the father desperately tried to claw his way behind her. He was too slow. Janine's eyes were puffy and red from all her crying, while her throat was sore from shouting. Like her mother, she was beautiful. With perfect blonde hair and a small, yellow dress. Without a word, Hallie used the butt of her handgun, and knocked it hard across the little girl's head. She cried. Her father did too. Hallie raised the gun, and slammed it down hard, from right to left, then left to right, over and over again. The sickening sound of hard plastic against the soft cranium filled the father's ears, and he broke down. "…And if that Billy Goat won't pull, Mama is going to buy you a cart and bull…" with one final pound, the child crumpled to the floor, her eyes still wide open. 

              Hallie turned around, her expression now changed, showing signs of fatigue, and at the same time, a devilish satisfaction at the horror that she put the father through. She hid her gun, and walked to the kitchen, finding a small barrel of gas set aside just by a dryer. There was a dead silence now, hush, save for the man's broken tears. He did not even realize that Hallie was pouring the gas all over the place, in a concentric circle from the man's body. "…" When it was empty, she threw the barrel away, and then proceeded to walk outside. "…And if that cart and bull fall over…" Hallie took out a match, lighted it against the rough end of its container, and then threw it on the floor. "I'm going to buy you a dog named Rover…" 

              The following afternoon did not show any sunlight, only a tired splatter of gloom that seemed to remark on the weariness of the sky. Alex took a cup of coffee from the vending machine, still fatigued from both schoolwork, varsity, and having Derrick left beaten. He had on a gray jacket with black outlines over a black shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. A group of people sitting on plastic chairs lined on a wall stared at him in silence. He didn't want to think or know why. It was already a week since they found Derrick's bloody body on the pavement. 

              Only four days ago, he found out that Derrick wasn't only unconscious; he was in a coma. Neither Barry nor Hallie informed him, it was from a nurse that he grew to know. Three days ago, an entire family in the area was slaughtered, with half the building catching fire. Alex didn't understand why neither one Hallie or her husband seemed to get lost in hysteria the moment they found out that their son's consciousness could be in a few days, or in a couple of years. He figured that they had their own ways of mourning; they were adults after all. 

              Barry felt the fire crackle by his feet as he watched the mantle of his works. Awards given, prey hunted, caught, and stuffed. There was a small, framed picture of him with Chris right after a marksmanship contest that the Nevada Rifle Association held. Chris won first place as usual, while his wife scored in second. Barry was third. He kept his hands behind him, wondering if his actions were right after all. Two men were already dead because of him, and he was already expecting the third. 

"Barry!" cried a young man that practically tripped to get to him. Right on cue.  He had fear etched in his eyes, and he had every right to feel so. The young man had a hooded black jacket on, as well as a pair of black jogging pants. He had short brown hair. "What's happening? Jack and Forrester, they've both been…" his voice was cracked from fatigue. "I know, Allan." Barry responded, his hands behind him. He was covered in deep red, making the young man conjure images of bloody corpses in his head. 

              There was a terrifying calm in the elder man's voice, as if he already thought about this scenario from before. "You're terrified." He then remarked, much to the younger man's chagrin. "I bow to your superior wisdom." The young man responded, rekindling the kind of attitude that Barry saw in him years ago when he was training in the military. "Listen, you put me up to this, and I want you to make sure that I live to enjoy our deal!" he then shouted. 

"Do not raise your voice, soldier." Barry sternly snapped back, hushing the young man into quick compliance. Old as he was, Barry was still intimidating. "…You will leave town tonight, and do not return until things have cooled down." He then ordered, turning to face the fireplace once more. "…But…sir…" 

"There is a ticket to Cleveland on the dining table. Two in fact, so take your girlfriend with you. Now leave." The old man informed him. Still heaving from his run, the young man silently nodded, and then walked away. "Good luck." Barry whispered nonchalantly as he heard the door creak to a close.

              Allan sprinted across the massive lawn, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Hallie carrying a black umbrella, staring right at him. "Your girlfriend wanted me to tell you…" she whispered as she drew closer, the man's heart beating faster and faster as she did. "…that she would have made a wonderful mother." Without another word, Hallie took out a handgun, and shot him through the eye. "Maybe you can raise your filthy family in hell." She stepped over his body and continued walking towards the house. Barry was already outside, watching them, smiling as well. 

"You could have killed them yourself." Hallie remarked as she got to the door, with Barry letting out his hand to hold hers. "And not let my dear wife get the satisfaction? What better birthday present?" he responded, letting her into the house. "Things are going so well." 

Author's note: Next chapter, questions are answered, and more importantly, I kill off people.  

  

       


	10. Galilee

Author's note: The finale to my story, and Dear Lord do I hope that nothing comes across as Deus ex machina. Here layeth answers…

Hotaru: Scaring the wit out of people is fun.

Hello Captain/Jen: Thank you for the kind words. Yes, I've had those life altering classes as well as a few courses on microbiology as well. Dentistry however, is not my focal point. Male teachers hit on me more than women do. Anyway, your work is amazing, and I am honored that you think highly of my own.

Frenchy: Yes, answers. And I read interlude, a little short but lovely nonetheless.

Chapter 10: "Galilee"

"Perfect. Everything is just so…perfect." Barry uttered as he stared into the eyes of the woman he called his wife. Once upon a time, he loved her with all his heart, was he beginning to feel the same passion now? It has been a long time since they shared a gaze full of fire and life. Thankfully, that was all the old couple shared. In the past weeks, their son was beaten nearly to death by three men, three of which were now silenced by death. "And to think I worried you sent tougher men to do the job." Hallie remarked as she then turned towards the fireplace, the only source of light in the house at that moment. "If I sent any tougher men, I doubt that Derrick would have survived. We needed him in comatose…and we needed to keep paying the hospital bills, just so we look like concerned and grieving family." Barry then responded with a smirk. "I never realized how great an actor you are." Hallie replied, as she took a framed picture from the mantle and gazed at it.

The picture showed the five of them together, back when the children were still young, and Derrick just a baby. "And we needed them dead, just in case their conscience suddenly gets the better of them. Silence is quite a virtue." Barry finished, completely proud of himself and what he has accomplished. "I never realized how much trouble that boy could cause." She uttered. "How much disappointment." With a snarl, she threw the framed picture into the fire. Her eyes sparkled as it burned, a thousand words, a thousand memories, all corrupted into forgetful flame. She welcomed it. Barry was fumbling with something in the shadows. "And now…" Barry took out a glass of white wine. "Tell me…how did you kill those people exactly?" He asked her, sparking curiosity from the wife. "Why?"

"Well…those were grown men…trained by the military. Trained by me."

"…Not trained well enough." Hallie smiled. "I played their emotions. They could not function so properly if they grieved, am I right?"

"You killed their families first."

"I made one of them watch as I beat his child to death. He could have chopped my head off with one punch if he wanted, but he was too busy crying over his wife and child. Typical. They even thought that it was my measure of revenge for what they did to that ghastly son of ours." Hallie took a glass and drunk it all in at once, throwing her head back and relishing the fine taste. Not just of wine, but of the dark victory they seemingly won. Madness must have been infectious. "You felt no remorse for the people you killed?" Barry asked, to which Hallie shook her head. "Of course not."

Barry smiled, this time, more sinister than his wife felt comfortable in. With a soft sigh, Barry took out a tape recorder from behind him, and played the conversation back, starting from the question of how she killed the families. Hallie was now confused, and Barry, as always, was on top of his game. He put down the recorder and drew closer to his wife. "…I promised as a new life when I told you that we needed to get our problem ridden child out of the picture, and you agreed. But I had a change of plans…you see, the story now is that you were the disappointed mother and I…the caring father. It was in a fit of madness that you hired men to beat your child, and the same story follows…except I am not in it, save for the fact that I found out your plan and heroically foiled it, albeit just a little too late."

"…" Hallie was muted with shock as Barry grinned and turned around. A melancholic violin solo was played in an mp3 player on the wall. The elaborate and beautiful strings seemed to sing a song of cruel realization, one that seemed to reflect the swell in Hallie's eyes. "I want a new life for myself you insane old hag." Barry continued. "And that means you are out of the picture as well." He followed, emphasizing the word 'you'. Trust was fundamental in any given relationship. Hallie forgot that. "…"

"Oh, and I already alerted the police…about the same time you shot the poor man outside. I hope you don't mind. I bet they'd love to hear your recorded confession." He teased, before finishing his glass. As if on cue, the faint wail of sirens began to slip through the strong howling winds. Flashes of red and blue, small at first, but impending, frightening, growing larger by the minute. They were coming for her. Hallie's mouth hung half open, not knowing how exactly to react. The betrayal was so sudden, so out of plan. "…hush…" she then began to sing. "…hush now baby…" Barry felt his skin suddenly crawl with his wife's cold voice, and turned around just in time to see her slam a porcelain face across his face. Although he was old, he was still strong, strong enough to withstand the blow with just a stagger. With an angry cry, he back fisted her with his right hand, sending her to the floor. He could kill her then and there as a form of self-defense, with the streaming blood from his forehead lending credence to the statement. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to finish the thought, as Hallie sprang back up with a piercing shriek, stabbing Barry through the neck with a shard of broken porcelain.

Barry gasped for air as pain began to electrocute his being. He survived so many things in his prime, but now was not such a time. His skin wasn't as tough as it used to be, and neither was his threshold for pain. He soon crumpled to the ground, followed by Hallie who pushed the shard deeper and deeper with both hands. Then, with another loud cry, she pulled it out, resulting in a spray of blood from now dangling arteries and veins. Hallie began to laugh as she pushed herself up, her husband convulsing on the floor while spitting out blood. With a deep breath, the madwoman then took off her stained jacket and grabbed the gun she left on a table when she walked into the house. Now, in her unstable mind, was the time to end this once and for all. There was no time to burn the recording, no time to hide the body that she now had numerous fingerprints on. Now was the time to run, back to the beginning, and close the circle.

About a minute later, the police kicked down the door, and swarmed into the house, pointing their handguns into every imaginable direction where the woman could hide. "Mr. Burton's down!" cried an officer, who knelt down to check the old man's pulse. "Well?" asked a female officer. The figure was on his belly, one hand stretched out while the other was bloodied from covering the neck wound. It was as if he struggled to get on his feet before he was found in the way he was. His eyes were wide open, hauntingly beautiful spheres that reflected the soul. "…He's gone…call for C.S.I." The man uttered as he stood back up. "So is his wife." Chided an officer who just finished sweeping through the large residence. "Shit…where the hell could she have gone…?" An agitated officer cursed under his breath. "Go check the woods behind the house. Seal the area." Ordered the captain, placing both his hands on his waist. "…Mr. Burton was a fine man…" He uttered, shaking his head.

Alex rested his head on his hands as he stared at the unconscious face of Derrick. He had on a fitted, plain red shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He didn't really care how much he looked nowadays, especially since the play if perspective could change drastically in just a moment. That however, did not stop him from being one of the most handsome students in the university, even though he did not really think it. All he thought about was that his boyfriend was currently in a coma. In his life, Alex knew and heard of countless miracles happening from day to day, ranging from thoughtless irregularities to what clearly is beyond coincidental. That entire day was spent praying for a miracle, a sudden twist of divinity where Derrick would open his eyes and smile his beautiful smile at him. It was a smile that Alex could always remember.

"You know Derrick? Sometimes I wonder." Alex then whispered, standing up, but his face still leaning downwards, towards his boyfriend's. "With everything happening around the world…the war, the bloodshed, the…madness, is it just better if we go away? Right now, are you in a better place? Not seeing, maybe not even really feeling. What if you're dreaming? You know…of a better place. I was wondering…am I there with you?" There was a childish vulnerability in his voice, betraying his large, strong figure. He knew that comatose people do not dream, at least not that he knew, but the strange peace that captivated his lover, captivated him as well. Sometimes, he hated being in love. It was an emotion that could very well blind the beholder and its entire kin. The equivalent of an internal Trojan horse, with armed soldiers ready and waiting for a sign to come out and rip your heart to pieces. But then again, love, so vague and abstract, also inspired men to be the best that they could be, and women to be more than what was expected of them.

Love and life are intertwined like the Pisces, a deep whirlpool of dazzling beauty and discord. Going deeper, ever slowly but irreproachably, love is a cascade of glass that makes the person see something better within him or herself. Behind the glass is the person who made that someone see something better in the cascade. For some people, that was love, not a relationship of two figures but a symbol of status. For some love is love when that person makes you feel a better somebody than you really are. At times, Alex wonders if Derrick just wanted to be his boyfriend because of his place in the social community. But then again, his ego justifies that if it were the case, Derrick wouldn't be hell bent on actually hiding that relationship. The question still remains however, is what they have worth it? Alex has been thinking for the longest time now, if what they had could even be labeled as a relationship. He hated hiding. He hid all his life, and now, the person he loved wanted to push him back to that direction. How could that be love? His mind wandered to articles and journals mentioning that homosexuals do not feel love, only lust. Then he wondered if his entire relationship was based on the notion of disproving such unhealthy bias. _"No." _He thought.

"Derrick…if you can hear me…I just wanted to tell you that…I love you, no matter what. And I'll wait for you." He brushed aside a strand of Derrick's hair, and for the first time in a long time, kissed him on the lips. The sincerest kiss he had in ages. Poetic that it had to be with someone unconscious. "I don't care how long Derrick…just come back, okay?" he pleaded in a soft voice, kissing him again, this time like a simple brush of air. He leaned back, standing now, but his gaze was still on the young, bedridden man. At that moment, a calm began to lift his spirits, a new melodic silence that began to strum at his heart. He had convinced himself that he loved someone. With a smile, he turned around, exactly the same time a gunshot suddenly rang out. The loud ringing whirl of sound, along with the panicked scream of nurses and personnel, soon left Alex's ears as he looked down to find blood slowly dampen his shirt. Two more shots echoed, again through the chest, but this time, closer, so much that the blood burst out into fine red mist, which gracefully fell on Derrick's chest and neck like crimson chaff.

Alex did not shout, nor cry, but his shock prevailed over the pain, as he fell to his back, his left arm hung on the side of Derrick's bed. Hallie stood just outside the door which was opposite the bed, her gun hand trembling, singing, or at least humming something about an insatiable little boy and endless promise. There were tears in her eyes. Alex took a deep breath, turned, grimaced, and crawled up so that his torso leaned on the bed, a protective cover for Derrick. He felt something blow through his shoulder, splattering blood in his cheek, but he ignored it, as much as was humanly could anyway. Hallie was a sure shot, but she was faltering. Her heart, however buried, was still beating.

Still acting. On the other hand, Alex felt his heart beat slower and slower, but at the brink of death or not, he did not think of himself. He kept his eyes on Derrick, ignoring the sound of rushed footsteps, of more gunfire, of a woman crumpling to the floor in silent defiance. He kept his eyes on Derrick, ignoring the police officers that began to check up on Hallie's body. One of them notices Alex, but he could not discern their words from inaudible gibberish. More footsteps, some patient crying, an officer down. Alex smiled, knowing that Derrick was safe, and second later, fell to the ground. The cold overcame him, and even though he wished nothing more than be in Derrick's arms, he knew that it was not possible. With a tear rolling down the side of his face, now staring at nothing but dust and the wheels, Alex closed his eyes and died.

In the swirl of madness and blood, in the loss of life and of love, Derrick slept, unknowing, not waking. Trapped in a world where there was nothing and no one, save an endless darkness that could only be described as the prelude to oblivion. In this depraved silence, Derrick rests. Nothing, no one. Silent. But then, destiny arose, bathed in a bright light that defied the darkness. With a twisted grin, it pointed at Derrick, with long bony hands that resembled death more than anything else. He then felt himself falling, falling away from the endless shroud of night and into a vortex of light, or memories, once again, of love. He saw faces, people he knew, people he did not. And at that moment, Derrick opened his eyes and found himself back in the unforgiving clutch of reality. He had awakened. He was alive. It was a miracle. A newfound sensation overwhelmed his being as a hundred questions began to race to his mind. When and where, who or how. He turned his head, and his eyes widened in shock and horror at the very first thing he saw.

The End.

Author's note: I hope I didn't raise your hopes of anything HAPPY actually happening to anyone of my stories, now. Well, it was an awkward time writing this story, and I am very much proud of how it turned out if you don't mind the moment of sudden vanity. Thanks to you who reviewed, may you review more! Hehe. Until the next time.


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